Mine For the Summer
by Can'tStopImagining
Summary: "Of all the people to bump into in a quaint little seaside town…" Alex continues, and there's a bright smile on her face, her eyes a perfect twinkling shade of ocean blue, "Casey Novak. I hardly recognised you." or, Casey bumps into Alex on vacation. (Set somewhere around season 7).
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I'm still nervous about posting for this pairing but this idea wouldn't leave me alone.

* * *

It's not that she doesn't _know how to vacation_ , more that she… enjoys working.

That's what Casey keeps telling herself as she thumbs through copies of case files she was 100% told to leave in the office - by separate people - sitting at the desk in her plush hotel room. The sun is bright and strong, streaming through the open drapes on the other side of the room and spilling onto the legal pad she's jotting away on.

Vacations are overrated, anyway. It's not like she has the kind of job where she can afford to be away from it for long periods of time. It's not like she has a job that's unimportant. In fact, she's overcome by how important it is on a daily basis, just how integral her role is in keeping assholes - child molesters, and murderers, and rapists - off the street.

Okay, maybe she _doesn't_ know how to vacation.

Casey sighs, folding her notes away and resting her head on her palm, elbow on the desk.

She can hear children playing outside on the beach that's only a short distance from her hotel, laughter, dogs yapping. The smell of sea air is such a stark contrast to back home, to the polluted air of New York City. That was why she'd come here - and Olivia had raised her eyebrows when she told her, clearly taking her for the cultural type, rather than the type to lie on a beach with a romance novel (which, to be fair, she _is_ ). Something had made her nostalgic. A case that had hit too close to home, taking her back to childhood vacations; tossing a ball about on a sandy beach, the gentle slap of waves against her carves, struggling to stand on the slippery surface around a rock pool as she tried to net a crab.

As soon as Casey'd arrived here, though, she'd realised there was nothing for her here. Not now.

She's resigned herself to spending most of this vacation taking advantage of the heavily stocked mini bar, and room service. It's only a week. She can force herself not to work for a week. Surely.

She's no good at just sitting still, either, so after an hour of flipping through TV channels and sipping on overpriced beer, she's restless, already contemplating going back over her files.

Reluctantly, she opts instead for going down to the beach front.

The buildings along the sea front are all different sizes, all painted different bright colors. Though many of the store fronts and apartments have changed since Casey's childhood, there's something unmistakably familiar about all of them and it's oddly comforting. She remembers the bright turquoise colored ice-cream parlour that she'd begged her parents to take her to every summer, insisting that one day she'd live in an apartment building exactly the same color.

Casey sighs, drifting away from the large crowds of people milling about through the rows of concession stands and stores. The beach is patterned with people, sunbathing under parasols and spread out on sun-loungers, children playing in the waves. She doesn't feel like she belongs amongst any of them, and finds herself heading up the hill to where it's quieter, where the only company is a few older people walking their dogs, and a couple talking softly on a brick wall. She walks without thinking, letting the wind lack at the loose strands of her hair, the sun beating down on her.

"Well, there's somebody with legs even paler than mine," a woman says, and Casey flinches, looking up in confusion for the source of the voice.

She does a double take.

Alexandra Cabot.

She's wearing a sheer white sleeveless button down and black shorts, her hair up in a messy ponytail (Casey had no idea she was even capable of looking anything short of perfectly put together), black-rimmed glasses perching on the end of a lightly freckled nose. And sure enough, her legs are milk white, her arms too. She's unmistakable, and yet Casey can't help but feel like she's seen a ghost.

"Of all the people to bump into in a quaint little seaside town…" Alex continues, and there's a bright smile on her face, her eyes a perfect twinkling shade of ocean blue, "Casey Novak. I hardly recognised you. I didn't even know you owned casual clothes that weren't for playing Softball in."

Casey feels the blush rise to her cheeks, familiar and embarrassing, "Al—" she starts, and then swallows the name, looking around them cautiously at passers by, "I feel like I shouldn't be talking to you."

If Alex is concerned, though, she doesn't show it, just smiles wider, "let me take you for lunch."

* * *

Despite everything telling her this is a bad idea, Casey agrees to go to lunch with Alex. That in itself seems odd. It's not as though they are friends; quite the opposite, in fact. Alex's presence had been like a tower looming over Casey for much of her career, or at least the notable parts. Everybody knew Alexandra Cabot at the DA's office. Casey had been aware of her before she'd been asked to take over her position at SVU; how could she not be? One of the youngest senior ADAs, Alex walked around the building, and subsequently courtrooms, like she owned them, never a hair out of place, perfectly manicured and with perfect posture. When Casey had joined the DA, she'd been instantly intimidated by her, and even after three years of taking over her position with the special victims unit - including prosecuting the man who had attempted to murder Cabot, just a year previously - that feeling had never left. Casey had found her place within the unit, within her office, had proved herself a suitable substitution for the blonde attorney in plenty of ways, but she still had this prickling feeling that they would always compare her to the great Alexandra Cabot, always prefer her.

During her brief stint out of witness protection, Alex hadn't given Casey much of a reason to think otherwise. If anything, she seemed dubious of her credentials, unwilling to trust that the younger attorney (though only by a couple of years) had what it took to get her would-be murderer locked up.

But, Casey had won the case.

Not that she really knows what Alex's reaction to that was, because she'd been whisked away back into protection before any of them could really get to grips with what had happened.

Still, as Casey follows Alex across the boardwalk, she can't help but feel uncomfortable. Not only because she's still intimidated by Alex, but because she knows that she's breaking rules by being here, by talking with her. She's putting Alex in danger, but, in true Cabot style, she is completely laid back and nonchalant about that, which just makes her all the more frustrating.

Casey's good at breaking rules, but only on her own terms.

They duck into a small cafe along the winding road away from the beach front, and Casey feels a little of the tension in her shoulders droop, but not much.

"Good afternoon, Magda," Alex greets the older woman behind the counter with a typical Cabot smile.

"Miss Christine, good to see you! Will you be having your usual?"

There's a familiarity between them that almost makes Casey's heart ache in her chest, a weird longing she can't put a name on.

"Yes, please, and the same for my companion," she glances at Casey, "the cheese scones here are to die for, just trust me."

Baffled, Casey nods, and watches as Magda flicks a switch on an ancient looking coffee machine, and begins to take things out of their little plastic displays, dishing them out onto plates. She has to admit, what Alex has picked out looks nice, especially in comparison to the candy bars and chips she's been eating back at the hotel.

They settle into a table in the far corner of the cafe with their coffees, cheese scones with soft cheese and smoked salmon, and pastries. Alex immediately tucks in, leaving a strange silence between them, which Casey eventually breaks.

"So, Christine, huh?"

"Suits me better than Emily, don't you think?"

Casey frowns, "I wouldn't know," she says, though she agrees that it does.

Alex looks at her with a sort of bemused expression, folding her hands in her lap as she chews on her scone, "who would have thought I'd ever be glad to see Casey Novak."

"There's no need to be mean," Casey huffs, "just because you bought me lunch doesn't mean—"

"Sorry, I really _am_ glad to see you," Alex touches her hand briefly across the table, before pulling away, "I just can't believe that of all the people for me to bump into here, it's _you_ _._ God, I miss New York."

Picking at her scone - Alex is right, of course; it's delicious. Then again, she's right about everything _all the time_ which is one of her most infuriating qualities - Casey chews slowly before leaning forward, "I don't think we are supposed to be talking, especially not in public. Anyone could hear our conversation and—"

"Who? I'm pretty sure if Magda was going to kill me, she'd have done it already. I come in here every other day."

Casey pauses, looking around her at the deserted cafe, and relents, "fine. How are you?" she asks, awkwardly.

Alex shrugs, sipping her coffee, "bored, mostly."

"Yeah, I didn't really take you for a small-towner."

"I could say the same about you," Alex says, lips twitching into a half-smirk.

"My dad's unit was stationed around here for a few years - I grew up in the area," Casey says, feeling suddenly embarrassed about releasing such personal information. She'd felt silly enough deciding to come here, all these years later, without anybody knowing about it.

Alex's smile is warm, genuine, though, "you still have family around here?"

"No - I haven't been back here since I was eight years old."

Alex grins, "I can so picture an eight year old Casey Novak with her bright red hair and only half her teeth, terrorising the teenage boys on the beach and kicking their asses at sports."

Blushing, Casey rolls her eyes, "I don't know about that."

They sit in a strained silence for a few minutes, Alex spooning creamer into her coffee, Casey chewing on her scone, staring at the table top. It's understandable. Despite having the same job, the same colleagues… they really have nothing in common. Or, at least, they know nothing about each other. Under any other circumstance, they wouldn't be talking.

If Casey's honest with herself, this is more about _her_ than Alex anyway. She's never been good at small talk, especially with somebody who she's spent so much time trying to step out from the shadow of.

"How's New York?" Alex finally asks, lifting her coffee cup to her lips.

"You know… the same," Casey replies, her lips turning up into a smile as she adds, "Liv's cut her hair off. Again."

Alex genuinely laughs at that, full bodied and without ambition, and that causes Casey to laugh too. It feels weird, laughing over something so stupid, but it's contagious. Until it isn't, and Alex looks like she's about to break.

"I miss her. Every so often, I'll see something that makes me think of her, or I'll just be struck with the urge to call her, and I don't think I'll ever get past the fact that I can't. I miss all of them."

"They miss you too," Casey says, quietly, her throat dry.

"You know what I do for work here?" Alex leans back in her seat, head back, trying to disguise the sudden tears that have sprung in her eyes, "I work at the front desk of a hotel. It's so boring. I have to wear this stupid fake smile… you know how often I have to bite my tongue not to say something snarky?"

Chuckling, Casey nods, "I can take a guess, yeah."

"Where are you staying, anyway?"

"The Cannery?"

Alex laughs, "no way - I work right next door, at the Harbor House."

Casey quirks an eyebrow, "you have a cute lil uniform there? Does it have a necktie? God I hope it has a necktie."

Rolling her eyes, Alex shakes her head, leaning forward on her elbows as though it's a secret, "a waistcoat."

Laughing, Casey takes a long drink of coffee, "now _that_ I need to see."

"I'll give you a wave as you walk past tomorrow after breakfast."

Casey grins, "I'll hold you to that."

"Speaking of which," Alex glances at her watch and frowns, "I'm going to have to head out. You headed back to the hotel? Fancy company?"

Despite not having any intentions of going back to her hotel having only just left it, Casey readily agrees, and finishes up her coffee in one last gulp. It seems weird, how easily she and Alex have fallen into step with one another, but it's a relief too. As much as Casey's friends might have thought she needed this vacation, knowing somebody in this town of strangers is oddly comforting.

Even if it is Alexandra Cabot.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you so much to everyone for your kind words :) I hope this next chapter is enjoyable.

* * *

It's not that she _watches_ Casey on purpose, it's just that their hotels _are_ very close together, and there really isn't much else for her to do now that she's read the same copy of US Weekly, that's been left behind the desk for god knows how long, from cover to cover six times.

And she can't help the fondness that's creeping into her, even after just a few hours. It's probably just that Casey reminds her of home - in fact, it's definitely that - but when she sees that strawberry blonde ponytail bobbing up and down as Casey jogs past, there's this ache, this longing in Alex's chest that takes her by surprise.

It's New York that she longs for. That's it. It isn't the way Casey's eyebrows raise and she laughs when she finally sees Alex in her uniform, waving goofily at her past a stream of tourists. It isn't the angle of her jaw, the soft, pale expanse of her neck revealed as she gulps down water, before taking off towards the beach. It can't be any of those things.

Not because she hasn't slept with women. But, because, Casey, is… well, _Casey._ Casey Novak who was a running joke around the DA's office for being too enthusiastic, for not thinking things through before execution. Sure, she'd grown up - Alex could see that, had seen that when she'd won _her_ attempted-murder case - but a part of her couldn't stop thinking of Casey as that over-eager kid she'd first met, the one who everyone in the office referred to as 'Softball Novak'.

Alex is pulled out of her thoughts by the heavy front doors of her hotel being pushed open, and for a second she scolds herself for not concentrating, for not being as good a host as she could be. Sure, it's hardly a life or death job, but she still wants to do it to the best of her ability because that's what Alex Cabot does. And even if she's Christine Norbraten now, her mentality is the same. But then she sees who it is, and she relaxes.

"Hey," Casey beams. She's sweaty and red-faced in her running clothes, and Alex is met again with this weird inner tug, again, that she can't shake.

"What brings you here?" Alex asks, eyebrows knitted together in a half frown, though the smile on her lips gives her away.

"What time do you finish work?"

Glancing at her wrist watch, Alex is relieved to see it's later than she thought, "In about… forty five minutes?"

"Perfect," Casey tells her, "see you then,"

And just like that, she disappears again, waving stupidly behind her, leaving Alex entirely baffled.

* * *

Sure enough, Casey arrives back dead on the hour, just as Alex is signing out. Alex raises an eyebrow at the sight of her, leaning against the wall of the hotel, licking ice cream from her hand.

"Hi," she says, cautiously.

Casey smiles sheepishly, "it's not quite Mr Softees but…" she hands across a dripping ice cream, the kind with strawberry sauce and sprinkles that Alex hasn't had since she was a kid.

"You are always a surprise, you know that?" Alex tells her, before licking at the ice cream, hesitantly.

"I told you I was coming," Casey argues.

"Just… ice cream? Really? You remembered that?"

Casey shrugs her shoulders, stepping off from the wall and taking a big bite of ice cream. A smear of sauce lands just above her top lip, but before Alex can tell her, Casey's quickly licking it away, and damn, Alex can't quite drag her eyes away quick enough for that to not be _a thing_.

"Alex?" Casey teases, smirking at her, "you coming?"

And Alex hasn't heard her own name, hasn't been addressed by it, in such a long time, that it makes her stomach flutter. She nods, quickly falling into step with the redhead, as they head along the winding road down towards the beach front.

It's just beginning to get dark, the sun hanging low in a sky that's a swirl of greys and blues and pinks. It's still busy though, the restaurants no doubt swarming with people who've spent all day burning on the beach, longing for a large glass of wine, their children tired and grumpy. Alex would usually go off in the opposite direction, find herself an empty cafe up in the hills away from the tourists trap. She's happy walking along by Casey's side in easy silence, though;

"You seem a lot less paranoid about being caught with me," Alex says, once her ice cream is practically down to just a cone.

"You say that like this is some sordid love affair over frozen dessert."

Alex swallows, can't quite stop a: "you mean it isn't?" from slipping out, and then immediately regrets it when she sees how quickly Casey freezes up. It's not like there hadn't been… rumours. The joke practically made itself. But, saying it out loud, and to her face… seems cruel. Alex wants to apologise, but then maybe it's better to just not mention it.

Anyway, Casey made the joke first. She walked into it.

"You don't worry about being found?" Casey eventually asks, after Alex has spent an uncomfortable length of time watching her nibble her way around her cone.

Alex shrugs, "Emily spent all her time hiding and worrying… I turned over a new leaf when I got here. Besides, you put him away for me…"

"You're still in protection though," Casey says, softly, "there's still people out there looking for you."

"Probably."

"God, you're infuriating you know that? How do you manage to look so nonchalant all the damn time?"

Alex's lips quirk up into a smirk, "it's a talent."

"Well excuse me for caring too much."

Casey turns to leave, the whole atmosphere of their conversation having taken an icy turn, and not as a result of the gelato. Alex catches her by the arm before she has a chance to get away, and in the blink of an eye they're standing facing each other, eyes locked, faces just slightly too close.

"I didn't mean it like that," Alex says, "I don't like the implication that I don't care, because I do."

Casey sighs, and her eyes dart to Alex's mouth, then back up again, a split-second movement that Alex isn't sure she didn't imagine, before she breaks contact and pulls away.

"You're better at the whole compassion thing than I am," Alex continues, and Casey snorts at this, digging her hands into her pockets, her ice cream cone long finished.

"Sorry, I don't believe that for a second. You know what everybody in the DA's office thinks? What the squad thinks? That I care more about _sports_ than I do victims."

"Casey…"

"God, I was stupid to think this was a good idea, I just thought that you were lonely and I…"

Alex raises an eyebrow, "I'm not _lonely_. Home sick, yes, but there's not really anything anybody can do about that. It's a fact of life for me. But I am _not_ lonely."

She realises as soon as it's come out of her mouth - before that, actually - that it's a lie, that she's not used to being so easily read, and that the automatic reaction to that is aggression. Of course she's lonely. She hasn't bothered trying to make lasting relationships in this town, hasn't even settled for a hook-up with a stranger, a one night stand. She's purposely shut herself off from everybody she works with, has avoided friendship like the plague. A smile and a nod, polite conversation with the old lady who runs her favourite cafe is about as far as she'll let anything go. It's less painful that way.

Still, the fact that Casey can see that, can see through her that easily…. that bothers her.

"You're right. Maybe we shouldn't do this," she says, eventually, after realising that Casey's staring at her, clearly expecting her to continue. Casey's shoulders sag, just marginally, and Alex can't help but wonder if it's out of disappointment or relief.

"I don't want to argue with you. I'm on vacation from arguing," she says, with the smallest of smiles.

This can go one of two ways. Either, they call it a night, forget any of this ever happened. Alex goes back to her apartment, Casey heads back to her hotel, and they forget they even saw each other. She might still catch a glimpse of her, a full head taller than most women, going past the hotel in the morning, but it will only be for a couple of days.

Or, they can forget about the arguing, try to salvage the evening so they don't both end up spending their nights alone in front of the television.

"Do you want to get a drink?" Alex asks, eventually.

Casey looks surprised, but relaxes, nods.

"I know a place."

* * *

Where the sea front is filled with gaudy bars, restaurants with balconies hanging over the beach, places where you can hardly hear yourself talk over loud music and even louder customers, up in the hills there are more quiet, pleasant places to get a drink. They aren't devoid of tourism - nowhere is in this town - but they are less talked about. Pushing the door open on a little building down a side road, Alex allows a sigh of relief when she sees how empty the place is.

"This is nice… familiar," Casey says, smirking, "not quite where I pictured you."

"Not many country clubs around here," Alex responds, dryly.

She knows what Casey means though. This is the closest thing to a cop bar in New York City that Alex could find. The slightly sticky feel of the drinks menu, the distinct smell of smoke… it makes her think of home.

"I'll have a whiskey, on the rocks," Casey tells her, without even looking at the menu. When Alex raises her eyebrow, she smirks, "it's your shout, Cabot."

"You buy me a $2 ice cream cone, and think you can get away with anything," Alex rolls her eyes, but she's smiling as she leaves their booth, and moves across to the bar.

She isn't at the bar long - there's only one person serving, but the bar's mostly dead - but when she turns around, armed with a whiskey on the rocks, and a glass of white wine, someone's already taken up residency in the seat she's just left.

Judging from the look on Casey's face, that someone isn't entirely welcome.

"Here she is," Casey says, quickly, as Alex approaches, reaching for her glass, and placing it gently on the table top. The white guy with the salt and pepper hair who is leaning way too closely to her for someone who is supposedly a stranger, glances up at Alex, and his thin lips draw back to reveal teeth, pressed into an unconvincing smile.

"Hi," Alex says, sliding into the side of the booth that Casey's sitting at, "do we know him?"

"We do not," Casey says, each word weighted.

Salt-n-pepper Hair takes this as an opportunity to introduce himself, "Randall," he says, sticking his hand out, and pulling it back when Alex doesn't shake it, "I was just asking your friend here if she'd be interested in joining me for a drink."

"My _girlfriend_ ," Alex corrects, easily, "and from the look on her face, she isn't interested."

She feels Casey tense up next to her, ever so slightly, at those words leaving her mouth, but she sinks closer to Alex, hesitantly puts a hand in her lap, which Alex immediately picks up with her own.

"It wasn't an offer limited to just one," Randall says, and his eyes actually light up a little as he drops his gaze to their joint hands.

"We're actually not looking for a new father figure right now, are we darling? But thank you for the offer."

That finally catches him off guard, his eyes bugging out of his head just a little, and his expression quickly dropping to anger, "you know what you're doing is disgusting. You'll go to hell."

"Uh-huh, we'll see you there," Alex says, smiling, waving, trying very hard not to laugh as Randall leaves the booth and wanders over to his own table on the other side of the room.

As soon as he's gone, she moves ever so slightly away from Casey, dropping her hand. It remains in her lap, though, even as Casey lifts her drink with the other one, taking a long gulp.

"Thanks," she mutters, reluctantly drawing her hand back into her own lap.

"Anytime, though I know you, Casey Novak, you can handle yourself better than that."

She flashes Alex a small smile, one that doesn't quite reach her eyes, "guess I'm off my game."

"I guess you are."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** rating updated. This is probably the smuttiest thing I have ever written, so please be gentle.

* * *

Casey is far more drunk than she'd intended to be.

It was supposed to just be one drink, just to ease the tension between them. One glass of whiskey, and then she'd call it a night. Tomorrow, she'd go spend the day at the seafront, attempt to lose herself in a cheap paperback, maybe take some work files with her as back up. Forget about whatever this thing with Alex is.

But it hasn't been one drink, hasn't stopped at one glass. She'd downed the whiskey too fast, needing the liquid courage to get through that stranger's unwanted attention, and then, afterwards, to justify her response, how much of a coward she'd been. She'd let Alex handle the situation. Only, that had made her uncomfortable, too, and soon enough she'd been headed to the bar for a second, stronger drink.

Somehow, they've joked about her sexuality three times in the short space of time they've been here together, and each time it's struck Casey like a red hot poker. It's not that she isn't comfortable in herself -as comfortable as one can be at her height, all long-limbs and awkward angles - that she hasn't long ago accepted that she likes women, that she hasn't so much as looked at a man in that way since Charlie. She's heard the rumours, too, of course she has. But somehow, having Alex be so blunt about it, so upfront, like it's just here, dangling over them but not ominously. As though the two of them dating is not some laughable, unimaginable concept. It doesn't sit well.

So, she'd mostly downed the second glass too, and a third after that, and when Alex suggests they split a bottle of wine, she doesn't refuse. It's been a long time since she drank like this, and she knows she doesn't handle her alcohol well, despite her size, but, hell, she's on vacation, she might as well let loose a little.

By the second glass of wine, her speech is slurring, and she's touched Alex's hand more times in the past hour than could ever be necessary, and somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knows she's not going to be going to bed alone tonight. She sees the way Alex watches her, the brush of her hand against her thigh under the table. Up until now, she's let Alex's comments pass as a joke, a tease, poking fun at her. Nothing more. But now, with alcohol flowing steadily through her veins, and Alex sitting all too close to her, she thinks that maybe it isn't just her that's different. That it isn't just her who has been hiding a part of herself.

That Alex hasn't been poking fun, she's been flirting.

"If you're planning on taking me to bed, I wouldn't pour me another," Casey eventually says, covering her glass when Alex goes to refill it.

Alex laughs, her face close enough that Casey feels the exhale of breath on her skin, "wow, there's the forwardness I came to expect from you."

"Yeah, well, you've been hinting at it all night," Casey says, shrugging her shoulders, with effort. Something in Alex's expression makes her think that actually she hadn't been planning it, per say, but it has been on the back of her mind. She looks surprised. But her eyes are dark, and her lips turn up into a smile.

"My apartment isn't far from here," Alex says, quickly draining the rest of her glass. She looks eager, and that just makes Casey want her more. It isn't something she's elicited in a woman in a long time.

* * *

They fall into the hallway of Alex's modestly sized apartment, clashing teeth and hands roaming each others bodies. The walk over here is a blur. Alex has her pushed up against a wall in an instant, the textured brick digging into Casey's back as the blonde's mouth roams her neck, hands quickly making light work of her shirt. She lifts her head, tilts her jaw, lets Alex gain access to anything and anywhere that she wants, her own hands falling to Alex's petite hips. She can feel her pulse racing, echoing inside her head as well as her chest, but then Alex's hands are on her, pushing her bra up and unveiling soft, tender skin, and any sound seems to drown out of her. She's vaguely aware of the moan that spills from her, Alex's thigh slipping between hers, her kisses hungry. It's hot and heavy, but calculated, and not like any kind of lead up that Casey can remember having before, Alex's lips seeking purchase on every inch of her bare skin, weight pressing against Casey's centre. It's been an embarrassingly long time since anybody's touched her like that, and even over the top of clothes, Casey can feel it building in her, her hips rocking up to push against Alex without her permission.

Eventually, Alex draws back, leaving Casey half dressed and panting against the wall.

"Bed," Alex states, her own breath coming in uneven bursts, chest heaving, and all Casey can do is nod, awkwardly shifting her bra back in place, before following her up the exposed wood stairway and into the reasonable sized bedroom.

Alex doesn't waste any time, shucking off her work blouse without bothering to undo the buttons (thank god she'd taken that hideous vest off at the hotel), tossing it in the general direction of the laundry hamper, but missing. She's careful with the way she sets down her glasses by the bedside, though, and the change in pace, the surprise gentleness of that gesture, offers Casey a moment's pause. She falters, still standing awkwardly in the doorway to the room, glad that she at least had the foresight to cover herself up a little, not least of all because there's a giant mirror positioned almost directly opposite her. She's sobered up remarkably in the last ten minutes, and suddenly she's not quite sure what she's doing here.

"Come here," Alex says, softly, beckoning at her with a finger, and god, Casey doesn't like to take orders from anyone, least of all _Alex Cabot_ , but she's damned if she's going to say no.

The way Alex kisses her then is softer, more thorough, hands moving into her hair and pulling her closer but with a gentleness Casey hadn't been entirely sure she possessed until now. Casey's body immediately reacts to the attention, melding against Alex's, the same tightness building in her belly as Alex's hand trails down her neck, coming to a rest between her shoulder blades.

"We don't have to do this," Alex says, her voice throaty and rich as she lets her thumb skirt gently over Casey's lips, the palm of her hand cupping Casey's jaw, fingers still tangled in messy locks of hair.

Standing this close to her, Casey can see the misty look in Alex's eyes, unsure if it's brought on by alcohol or arousal, or, probably, both. Her lips are slightly swollen and bruised, her hair dishevelled. A breath catches in Casey's throat. She looks so absurdly beautiful, Casey knows she'll never be able to stop this from happening, least of all with Alex's body still pressed so tightly against hers. She bobs her head in a short nod, not trusting her voice enough to speak her decision. Alex seems to get the message, though, tracing her fingers down the length of Casey's arm, until she reaches her hand, and then, fingers intertwined, tugging to lead her to the bed.

Alex nudges her against the end of the bed, and as the mattress touches the backs of Casey's knees, she sits, subconsciously licking her lips as she stares up at the blonde, who takes her time to lean over her, long, fine, blonde hair tickling at Casey's shoulders, before Alex eventually moves to kiss her again. Somewhere, distant, in the back of Casey's mind, she acknowledges that this is a woman who knows how to make herself as sexually appetising as possible, that her understanding of her own body is far and beyond Casey's capabilities. That what she's doing here is putting on a show. But any coherent thought is wiped out of her before she can think about the implications of this discovery, the second Alex's lips connect with flesh again. She kisses and sucks and bites at a particularly sensitive patch of skin on Casey's neck, before swiping her tongue across the same area to sooth it, and then she's moving downwards, doing the same across her collar bone, travelling down towards Casey's breasts, where her hands meet up with her mouth. Casey sighs against her, automatically arching her back for better access, one hand gripping the sheets behind her, the other landing in the small of Alex's back, her forearm pressed against the pale skin of her side. Alex's hands are firm against her ribs, her thumbs slipping under the bottom edge of Casey's bra, eyes meeting the redhead's, a silent plea for permission, which Casey grants with a sharp nod of her head.

Of course Alex manages to unhook the offending item of clothing in a second, tossing it over her shoulder like it's nothing, and returning her attention to the newly exposed skin. She kisses between her breasts, cupping one and rolling a hardened nipple gently with her thumb, causing a soft quiver of a moan to drop from Casey's lips. The build up of arousal, the tightness and weight of it, is becoming more and more desperate as Alex continues, teasing the pink bud with the tip of her tongue, and then drawing more of her breast into her mouth, biting ever so lightly, the scrape of her teeth against sensitive flesh driving Casey insane. Alex glances up at her through heavy eyelashes, her blue eyes meeting Casey's, and there's a hint of mischief there, buried underneath lust and arousal.

She doesn't bother with the other breast, instead moving further to Casey's stomach, kissing down her abdomen, each movement causing the muscles to contort and spasm under her attention. As Alex's fingers move to the waistband of her pants, Casey's grip tightens, and she only realises she's digging her nails into Alex's back when the blonde lets out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan. Casey attempts to apologise, but Alex meets her gaze again, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, her own nails pressing into the soft flesh of Casey's hip-bone. Casey gets the message without either of them having to speak.

Casey is self conscious about her body, always has been, despite spending hours a week playing sports, but somehow all that goes forgotten as Alex tugs her pants loose, Casey standing from the bed to help with their extraction. Wordlessly, Alex nudges her legs apart, ducks her head so she's hidden behind a curtain of blonde hair, and presses an experimental kiss to the inside of Casey's thigh. The sensation of that, alone, is enough to send a bolt of electricity through her body. Casey grinds out a low moan, moving her free hand to Alex's hair, curling her fingers in it, cupping the back of her head as the blonde's exploration delves further, her eyes falling closed. Alex's breath is warm against her, even through the fabric of her underwear, and it sends a shudder through her. Her arms are hooked around Casey's legs, hands gripping tight to her hips, and she presses her mouth gently to the line of her underwear, right where cotton meets skin.

"Alex, please," Casey rasps, and she knows she should be embarrassed for begging - probably will be after this - but she's desperate. Her head is swimming, and the knot in her belly is becoming unbearable, and she's pretty sure that as soon as Alex touches her, she's going to come apart.

Alex looks up at her as she swipes her tongue over the same spot, her fingers moving to pull the very edges of her panties down, a little but not enough, and it's the most erotic image Casey has ever seen, this beautiful goddess of a woman teasing her, knowing exactly what to do to drive her insane.

If she hadn't hated Alex before, she does now.

"Ask me again," Alex commands, her voice a low rumble.

"Please, Alex, I…" she trails off, not knowing what else to say. She isn't good at dirty talk, has never had any need to be. It makes her feel awkward, even more self-conscious.

From the dark expression on Alex's face, though, it's enough, and she slowly draws the elastic of Casey's underwear down, over her hips and thighs, and eventually off, leaving Casey entirely exposed to her. Her eyes fall closed again, as she feels Alex's nose against the soft flesh of her thigh, and then she takes a sharp in-take of breath as the very tip of her tongue brushes against where Casey needs her most. It makes her legs quiver ever so slightly, her hips threatening to buck in her need for more contact, but Alex presses her down to the bed, nails pressing into her, not hard enough to break the skin, but maybe hard enough to bruise.

Alex's breath against her makes Casey shudder, but only for a second, before the sensation is replaced by the her tongue probing further. At first, it's vaguely hesitant - in complete contrast the urgency of this whole encounter, the hunger - but then her whole tongue presses flat inside of Casey, lapping against her, and Casey loses control entirely, letting go of the bed to move her hand to Alex's shoulder, the other still firmly buried in her hair.

"Shit," she hisses, hips involuntarily raising from the bed. She's vaguely aware of how tightly her legs are clamped around Alex's head, that she should probably be embarrassed, but there's so many other sensations for her to concentrate on that it doesn't take priority.

As Alex's tongue keeps up its pace, it's joined suddenly by two fingers, and Casey squeezes her eyes closed, stars already building behind her eyelids, a long moan getting caught in her throat. She hadn't even noticed Alex's grip on her loosen. The added friction is enough to push her over the edge, and she comes with one hand twisted in Alex's hair, the other digging her nails deep into the tender skin of Alex's shoulder. She knows she's still making sounds, but is deaf to them, only hoping that she isn't further embarrassing herself.

Alex slides out of her and pushes herself up so she's sitting on the backs of her heels, just as Casey allows herself to open her eyes. Her blonde hair's mussed, swept over to one side by Casey's grip, and her face is unusually pink, lips swollen and wet. Once she meets Casey's gaze, she very purposefully, slowly, lifts her hand to her mouth, and sucks two fingers between her lips, not leaving Casey's eyes for a second.

 _That's it,_ Casey decides, still trying to catch her breath, _Alex Cabot is going to be the death of me._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thank you for all your lovely comments on the last chapter. I was kind of scared to post it, but really pleased it got such a good reaction. Hopefully this chapter will provide some answers to a few of your questions...

* * *

 _Alex sat in the backseat of the car and gazed out of the window, watching the strips of light, other cars, as they sped past. She could make out the lights on the highway, but she couldn't be sure where they were. She'd lost track of how long they'd been driving for._

 _They were in a jeep, this time. Supposedly more inconspicuous than the SUV, though its windows were also blacked out, the only light coming from overhead in the front, the faint hum of the radio jumping in and out of tune a stark reminder that they were no longer in New York._

 _Pressing her face against the cold glass, Alex took in a shuddery breath. She'd tried sleeping for the majority of the journey, but couldn't find a comfortable position to sit in that didn't result in her head hitting something hard. In all honesty, she had too much on her mind to be able to sleep, anyway._

 _It had been no easier leaving a second time. If anything, it was worse. They hadn't given her time to say goodbyes, hadn't even allowed for her to thank her team for getting the man who put her in this situation locked away. A pang of guilt hit her again, square in the chest. She'd promised they'd celebrate together. The marshals had taken her before she'd had a chance to so much as use the bathroom after court._

 _Olivia would be heartbroken. The rest of the squad, too._

 _She couldn't stop herself from thinking about everything that had happened in the past 72 hours; the initial conversation with Cragen, the look of relief in Olivia's eyes when she'd seen her for the first time, even though she'd already known that Alex wasn't really dead. The feel of her arms wrapped tightly around her in the dark of the safe house. Elliot thrashing her at backgammon, her mind elsewhere._

 _Casey Novak being polite and courteous and obviously feeling out of place and awkward, like she was walking in on something she had no place at. Alex making it all worse, talking to her like she was still some green kid down in White Collar._

 _God, she hadn't even had a chance to apologise. To tell her how wrong she'd been to doubt her. To thank her for everything._

 _Squeezing her eyes closed, Alex counted to ten in her head, deciding that she would give herself until then to allow those things to weigh on her, and then she needed to move on. For her own sanity, if nothing else._

 _"_ _We'll be arriving at the train station in around forty minutes," Hammond spoke from the passenger side, glancing at her in the rear view mirror._

 _Alex shifted, pushing her glasses up into her hair, and pinching the bridge of her nose. Hammond didn't say which train station, and she knew better than to ask._

 _"_ _The case received a lot of unwelcome press. Your face has been in the news. You might consider switching up your appearance a little," he continued._

 _Rolling her eyes like a bored teenager, Alex fought the urge to laugh. Plenty of people had similar hair to her, similar glasses. As if her becoming a brunette would suddenly ensure her safety. She still hadn't touched the manilla envelope in her lap, happy to leave her new life as a mystery for a little while longer._

 _She hadn't even been able to say goodbye to the people she'd worked with in Wisconsin._

 _Then again, that hardly seemed to matter anymore._

 _She was starting over, again, and this time, she would do it alone._

* * *

It would be very easy to use the fact she's drunk as an excuse. She's drunk, and that's why she decided, in this already fucked up life of hers, that the best thing to do is to fuck it up even worse. To make things even more complicated, by sleeping with somebody she can't have.

In all honesty, she isn't that drunk, though. She can see that Casey is, in the way that her eyelids droop ever so slightly, in the stumbling movements as they leave the bar. She's not too drunk to know what she's doing, but she _is_ drunk.

Alex is remarkably sober for somebody who thought this was a good idea.

Once it starts, it's impossible to stop, and she doesn't want it to. That realisation comes with a start. She doesn't want this to not happen. In fact, there's a desperation under the surface that tells her that yes, Casey was right when she said she was lonely. Unbearably so. And she can't help it, the way that Casey says her name, that look in her eyes when she regards her… it's like Casey is the only person left in this world who knows what she's capable of. Obviously, that isn't true, but god, she's the only good thing that's happened since Alex was forced to come to this town, and her whole body aches for her.

And it's bizarre because _she's Casey Novak_. Alex might have watched her in court a handful of times, might have shared an elevator with her, or walked past her on a busy morning at the court house, and never even for a second stopped to imagine what kissing her might be like. But as soon as she starts to shed her of her clothing, pressed up against a wall in an apartment that still doesn't quite feel like home, and probably never will, Alex wants to scold herself for never noticing her, for never thinking about how beautiful she is. Because, god, she _is_. And even more so when she's begging for Alex to touch her, naked on a bed Alex has only ever slept in alone.

The sex is oddly intimate and intense, not what she'd consider appropriate for a first date, let alone whatever this is, but she can't drag her eyes away from Casey's, can't stop herself from watching her face as she reaches climax. It's so unlike Alex to be so overly forward. It isn't like she isn't aware of the reaction she can get out of people, but she isn't usually so… _intentional_ about it. Maybe that's the alcohol running through her veins, after all.

Somehow, they end up at the head of the bed, Casey propped up amongst the pillows, with Alex lazily running her fingers over her thighs, her belly, dropping kisses on skin that's warm with sweat. She can't really remember how they got here, it's a mess of dirty kisses and nails scraping against skin, and Casey's fingers pressing and curling deep within her, rough and messy. In contrast, her own orgasm was brought around with the sense of hunger and urgency that Alex would have expected in this situation.

Casey's eyelids are drooping. She's going to fall asleep, here, in Alex's bed, and Alex doesn't know whether it's excitement or dread that's settling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of that. This is exactly what she's worked so hard to avoid. But, she can't kick her out. Even aside from everything else, they're a good half hour's walk away from Casey's hotel, and she's probably not in any fit state to get there.

"I never got a chance to say thank you," Alex says, after a long enough beat of silence that she's beginning to wonder if Casey is asleep, "or apologise."

Casey lets out a low chuckle, her eyes opening enough for her to look down at Alex, one hand finding its way into blonde hair, "you really truly do not need to apologise. Or thank me, actually. Mine was an average performance, at best."

Alex can't resist pinching her thigh for that, though she drops her head to kiss the same area afterwards, ignoring Casey's fingers tightening in her hair.

"I mean for the trial… I was an uptight bitch before it. I guess I resented the fact you got to do the job I'd worked my ass off for, the job I would have still been doing if it weren't for all this…" she cranes her neck to look at Casey, realising she isn't doing a good job at apologising, "I acted like you weren't good enough for it. But I was wrong."

Casey shrugs, "I was used to it. Still am. You're a tough act to follow, Cabot."

"Well, you're more than good enough," Alex tells her, "I hope nobody ever makes you feel like you aren't."

Cheeks flushed, Casey tilts Alex's head towards her, ducking her own head to reach her lips, strands of strawberry blonde hair brushing over Alex's collarbone as she does so. The kiss is surprisingly tender, and again, Alex wonders what the hell they're doing here. But she doesn't question it. Just for this one night, she doesn't want to disturb things, doesn't want to ruin it by slapping labels on it.

After a while, silence stretching thick between them, Casey sighs, and begins to shift. Alex untangles herself from her legs, catching a glimpse at the clock beside the bed, and groaning when she sees how late it is.

"Where's your bathroom?" Casey asks, already pulling her shirt back on, knotting her hair around her fingers in an attempt to neaten it out.

Alex leans up on her elbows, watching her, "it's the next door on the right. There's fresh towels in the closet if you want to shower."

Smiling her thanks, Casey leaves the room, and Alex flops down on the bed, burying her face in her hands, trying to figure out how she's ended up in this mess. After a moment, she hears the shower running, and realises it's been months… almost a year, in fact, since she's heard that sound from another room. Something in her heart aches, and she drags herself into a sitting position in the hopes to block it out. She pulls her robe down from its place on the wardrobe door, and slides into it, the smooth silk soft against her skin. It doesn't offer much cover for her body, finishing half way down her thighs once she's tied it, an out of character purchase for somebody who had intended to spend all her nights alone, and she distantly wonders if a part of her had known she wouldn't be able to keep to that promise.

With Casey in the shower, Alex goes downstairs to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator, finding herself standing in front of the kitchen window, staring out at the night sky for longer than she'd planned to. She doesn't realise how long she's been standing there until she hears footsteps on the stairs.

She sees Casey's silhouette - fully dressed, now, her hair dripping - in the reflection of the glass, and sighs, dipping her head.

"I should go," Casey states, folding her arms across her chest. She looks tired, Alex notes, and a dark bruise is already blossoming where her jaw meets her neck, another at the neckline of her shirt.

"It's late," Alex says, finally.

Casey smiles, "I know, but I'm a big girl, Alex."

Alex feels like there's something unsaid in that statement, like they're having a separate conversation with their eyes to the one that's happening verbally, but she doesn't push, leaning against the edge of the kitchen counter and watching Casey with interest.

"You don't have to go."

Her head tilts to one side, something like bemusement in her eyes, "you don't want me to? I wasn't under the impression you were the cuddling type."

Alex laughs, unable to stop herself. She closes her eyes, dips her head. She's not the cuddling type, though she's been known to be. Maybe only a few times, and with a few special people, but…

"If you go now, I'll feel obliged to walk you to the hotel, so I know you get there safely. And then I'll have to come back here. I have work in the morning, and it's late, so really, it makes sense for both of us if you stay."

Her nose scrunching into a smile, Casey rolls her eyes, "you drive a hard bargain, Cabot. You at least going to give me something to sleep in?"

"I can arrange that," Alex tells her, starting back towards the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** in this chapter: Casey has Feelings! D: (can you blame her?).

Thank you for your continued support! Just so you know, I'm going to be starting a second story soon, but I have this one mostly mapped out so I won't be abandoning it.

* * *

Light is spilling in through the billowing white drapes pulled across the window at the end of the bed when Casey wakes. She blearily sits up, experimentally opening her eyes, and feeling relieved when her head doesn't thump in protest. Catching sight of herself in a mirror positioned on the other side of the room, she groans, immediately lifting her hands into her hair to try and calm the wild mess of curls that is her hair when left to its own devices, before deciding it isn't worth it.

Alex isn't in the bed. She'd fallen asleep curled away from Casey, with a space the width of an extra body between them. Casey remembers waking up in the night to find herself almost hanging off her side of the bed. It's awkward. She shouldn't have been talked into staying, but after learning everything Alex was capable of last night (and, she dares think, that probably wasn't everything), she hadn't felt able to say no to her. Besides, it's a pretty long walk back to her hotel, and she couldn't be sure of the route in the dark, alcohol still buzzing faintly in her system.

Pushing the crisp white covers back, Casey slides out of bed. She's wearing a t-shirt that Alex had dug out for her the night before, thigh-length, a worn-out and faded logo telling her that this is one of the few items Alex still has from her previous life.

Or she got it from a thrift store, probably.

Casey knows she shouldn't read any sentimentality into any of it. Alex had asked her to stay, backing her point up with perfectly reasonable and rational arguments, none of which had anything to do with how she feels about Casey. She'd leant her this shirt to sleep in because nothing else of hers would have fitted, and Casey didn't want to sleep in stiff, uncomfortable pants that reeked of sex. There's nothing else to it.

It's been a long, long time since Casey last woke up in somebody else's house, and she suddenly feels awkward, not really knowing the protocol. She stands by the mirror, and reviews the scattered bruises and scratches across her shoulders, her throat, her chest, her thighs… and blushes. This is the sort of thing she sees photographs of all the time at work, but this isn't like that. These marks are consensual. She'd happily allowed Alex to mark her as hers.

 _That's exactly the sort of thinking that will get you in trouble,_ Casey scolds herself, letting go of the collar of the t-shirt, letting the garment hang loose, covering some of the darker marks.

She's just contemplating getting dressed - it's early, but Alex has work, and she can't be sure she hasn't just left without waking her - when she hears footsteps on the stairs, and feels her body tense. She doesn't know what to expect, whether Alex is going to be full of regret for the night before. Casey isn't sure when she'd started to care, but now she's sure she does. She doesn't want Alex to be ashamed of having slept with her.

Alex creeps around the door, carrying a tray of coffees and pastries, visibly relaxing when she sees that Casey's awake. She puts the tray onto the bed, sitting down beside it, and pouring creamer into the cup closest to her.

"I wasn't sure if you'd be awake. I have to go in half an hour," she says, casually, stirring her drink, and offering Casey the jug of creamer. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and she's wearing simple make-up, though she's still dressed in her night-gown, peach lace and silk that clings to her in all the right places. Casey can't help but admire her outline, before realising that she's still holding out the jug.

She shakes her head, lifting the cup of coffee to her lips and taking a sip, despite it being too hot, "thanks," Casey says, uselessly.

For a moment, they sit in silence, sipping at their drinks, the pastries going untouched. Casey wonders when Alex became a pastry for breakfast type of woman, whether they've always been a luxury she allows herself, or if the sea air is getting to her. Then she decides it's none of her business, and tries not to think about it. Usually, she's lucky if she has time for coffee before rushing out of her apartment building to work; she isn't used to breakfast, much less served in bed, by somebody else.

The silence hanging over them is almost comforting, Casey decides. Alex sits with perfect posture, looking like some sort of model in her sleepwear, sipping at her coffee, and eventually picking at a pastry, but the fact that even she awkwardly fumbles with her words, her actions, when faced with the morning after, is soothing. Casey realises that she's learnt a lot about her in the past twenty four hours, that she isn't as calm and collected and full of grace as she likes everyone to think. A blush rises to her cheeks as a flood of memories from the night before decide to spring up in her head, right as Alex's tongue darts out to catch a stray crumb, and Casey has to look away.

"Are you at work all—"

"Did you have plans for—" They both start at the same time, and Alex laughs uneasily, ducking her head, Casey biting her lip. The look she gives her, then, from underneath her eyelashes, is deadly, so reminiscent of the night before that it sends a shiver through her.

"Casey, we're both adults, I think we can discuss what happened between us last night, instead of exchanging meaningless small talk," Alex says, shifting her weight on the bed. Her glasses are still on the nightstand, and she looks so much softer without them, with her hair loose. Her whole look since moving here is different, her glasses rounder-framed, her hair a slightly warmer colour, and Casey takes the time now to really appreciate this, the Alex Cabot normal people don't get to see, least of all those back in New York.

Then again, she isn't Alex Cabot anymore.

"I had fun," Casey eventually allows, hiding an embarrassed smile behind her coffee cup.

A look that could pass for relief washes over Alex's features and she smiles, "good. I did too."

There's still that question hanging over them, the awkward elephant in the room, but Casey decides to brush it aside, ignore it. She spends too much time fretting over the details of everything. She's only here for ten days. There's eight left. This development was unexpected, and maybe it's best she leaves it to grow organically, even if the ambiguity of it makes her uneasy. One of the main reasons she'd been sent off on vacation was to expand her comfort zone, after-all. What was it Liv had said? She needed to work on learning how to relax? Well, Casey thinks, eyeballing a particularly dark love-bite on her thigh, she's certainly worked on that.

"God, I really didn't mean to… inflict those," Alex says, her cheeks turning red as she follows Casey's line of vision, and then up to the bruises on her torso, "it's been a while. I got carried away."

Casey shrugs, "I have a good concealer."

She immediately knows it's the wrong response by Alex's change in facial expression, and she hates how uncomfortable this is. She doesn't know what she's doing; this isn't her. She isn't a person who sleeps with someone on a whim, and she certainly isn't someone who leaves red half-moons in people's skin, or goes home with purpling bruises on her neck. And yet, here she is.

"I don't know why this is so awkward," Alex finally says, laughing nervously.

"I should get dressed," Casey suggests, getting to her feet before Alex can respond. She moves mechanically, getting dressed with her back to Alex, trying to ignore how disgusting her clothes from the night before feel. She'll get changed once she's back at the hotel, go for a really long run to clear her head.

She's aware that Alex is watching her, as she pulls her pants up her legs, catching a glimpse of the blonde's reflection in the mirror across from her. Alex must notice that she notices, because she quickly looks away, and Casey can feel heat travelling up her neck, cheeks reddening.

"So, we probably shouldn't do this again," Alex says, opening her closet. Casey risks a glance at her, and there's a faint blush as she pulls fresh underwear on underneath her night-dress.

Casey's throat's dry as she responds, concentrating on flattening out the creases in her clothes, smoothing out her hair as best she can, ignoring Alex, "yeah. Probably."

"How long are you here for?"

"Through to next Tuesday."

"Oh,"

Alex's brow is furrowed in thought when Casey looks at her. She's paused, her shirt hanging open, and Casey sits down on the end of the bed, pulls her tennis shoes on, concentrating her gaze down, away from Alex.

"We can avoid each other," Casey says, slowly. Alex probably thinks they should have done that in the first place. _Don't have feelings, Novak_ , she scolds herself.

"No, don't be ridiculous," Alex smiles a little, fingers nimbly doing up the buttons on her blouse, the Alex that Casey thought she'd known before this encounter returning easily into place.

In any other universe, in any other circumstance, this wouldn't have happened, and the realisation of that hits Casey hard. Alex is seldom vulnerable. This situation… that's what's broken down her resolve, what led her to seek comfort in someone - the only person - who knows the truth. Casey swallows, folding her hands into her lap.

"I'm not going to tell anyone I saw you," she says, finally, after it's hung over them for seemingly the whole night.

She expects to see Alex relax, to see tension roll off of her in waves. So, when Alex raises an eyebrow, pulls a face at her, Casey can't help but be confused.

"You're an Assistant District Attorney, Casey, you don't have to clarify to me that you aren't going to break the rules of WITSEC."

Casey frowns, annoyed, "I already broke the rules by talking to you, let alone _sleeping_ with you."

"Yeah, and you already did the whole 'being concerned for me' bit. Unless you're telling me that you're not going to tell Olivia, Elliot, the others, because you think I'd be embarrassed."

"And why would I think you are embarrassed?"

Alex shrugs her shoulders, "I don't know. I'm not embarrassed. You seem to be, though."

That stops Casey in her tracks for a second. Is she embarrassed? For having slept with Alex? No, she doesn't think so. She knows why it happened, can rationalise both of their motivations for it. Alex is a beautiful woman, that has never been a secret to Casey, even as a young lawyer, watching Alex in the courtroom. She'd always known she was beautiful. Is she embarrassed by the situation, the awkwardness, the unwanted feelings that are creeping into everything? Maybe. She's not the kind of person who has a summer fling, who sleeps with somebody on the second day of their vacation, out of the blue. Maybe that's something for her to be embarrassed by.

Or maybe she's just embarrassed by how easily Alex had taken her apart the night before, by how long it's been since she last let herself go.

"I'm not embarrassed," she says, squaring her jaw, "I was just letting you know, out of courtesy."

Alex frowns at her, like she can tell she's lying, but doesn't say anything. She glances at the clock by the bed, "are you ready to go?"

* * *

As they start down the front steps of the building, annoyance is still settling in Casey's bones, and the fact that Alex looks flawless in her simple blouse, her black pencil-skirt, her heels - not so dissimilar to courtroom attire - after getting very little sleep, whilst Casey looks a complete mess, is not helping. Alex stops abruptly at the bottom of the steps, lifts her hand to shield her eyes and stares out across the street. Casey tries to follow her line of vision, but all she can make out is a truck parked outside the opposite building.

After a beat, Alex continues walking.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter is a little short... it's also really not the chapter I was planning on writing, but a few people seemed to be disheartened by the last chapter, so I'm hoping this will make y'all feel better! All the angst and complicated feelings is just part of the ride - don't worry :-). I don't think anything can be straight forward given the circumstances. Also, someone asked if my new story will be A/C. It will be, though it's more of an ensemble fic, and it's quite a bit darker than this. Hopefully I'll have the first chapter of that up very soon.

* * *

The old Alex Cabot would throw herself into her work to take her mind off things.

The old Alex Cabot had a job that was actually important, and therefore gave her focus. It wasn't signing people into hotel rooms, answering telephone calls about room service, recommending people restaurants she's never eaten at.

It's hard to take her mind off the events of the night before with nothing to really distract her, harder still when, around lunchtime, she catches a glimpse of the object of her frustration, going for a run. She's wearing a tight-fitting blue t-shirt and yoga pants, her hair pulled up into a ponytail, and just the sight of her makes Alex's chest tight, forces her to look away.

It should be simple. A one night stand. A drunk mistake. Alex seeking comfort in something familiar, desperately clinging on to the only person who still knows who she is, but nothing more. But it isn't. It isn't simple, because she thinks about Casey sleeping in one of her old t-shirts, strawberry blonde hair pooled on her pillow, her breathing soft and rhythmic, and something tugs deep inside of her. It isn't _love_ , obviously. It isn't even romance, not really. But she can't put a label on it. It's just _there_ , growing and blossoming in her, unwanted.

 _She's only here for eight days. Grow up, Alex._

Eight days shouldn't be too long to avoid somebody for, even if they are staying at the hotel next door to the one she works at, even if this seaside town is the size of a postage stamp. She'd scoffed at the idea of avoiding each other when Casey brought it up, but now it seems like the only option. The only way to stop things from becoming more awkward. Not just for her, for both of them.

"You look like you could use a drink."

Alex looks up in surprise, having somehow zoned out, her focus on what's happening outside the window, not behind her desk. There's a man standing in front of her, holding the handle of a suitcase in one hand, a booking brochure in the other. He's dressed in a smart suit, putting him mostly out of place in a town where loose shirts and shorts are the norm for men, his hair swept back off his face in a style that's clearly supposed to look effortless, but probably has more product in it than Alex has used in her entire life.

"I apologise, sir. Are you checking in?" she asks, pushing her glasses up her nose and putting on her best polite-customer-services smile.

"More like _checking out_. Well, checking _you_ out," the man fumbles, then grimaces, "god, that was cheesy, sorry. Yes. Checking in. Brannerman, Michael."

Alex fights the urge to roll her eyes, reminding herself that she has to be professional as she types his name into the computer system, double clicking on his reservation, purposefully not looking at him as she reads off the screen, "okay, Mr. Brannerman, you'll be staying in room 302, for three nights, breakfast inclusive."

"Yes, thank you, Christine, is it?" he says, leaning across to look at her name badge, and then back up at her, offering what is supposed to be a dazzling smile, "a beautiful name."

Cringing inwardly, Alex forces another tight smile, "You're on the third floor. I can send for somebody to take your luggage up for you, or there is an elevator just through that door to the left. I will need to just quickly scan the credit card you made your reservation with, in case of add-on charges."

 _Add on charges that I will personally be adding on if you don't stop staring at my chest,_ she thinks, taking his card as he offers it. He purposely holds it a beat too long, so that their fingers touch, before letting Alex take it.

"I'll take my own luggage, thank you."

To avoid the same thing happening again, Alex slides both his card, and his key-card across the desk, forcing one last smile. "I hope you'll enjoy your stay with us."

She waits until the door has closed behind him to finally let the smile drop fully from her face, shuddering as she reaches for the hand sanitiser she keeps in her desk drawer. The experience makes her think of the man in the bar the night before, how lying had come so easily to her when it came to protecting Casey from him. Maybe if she'd gone a different route, if she'd just handed his masculinity to him on a plate by threatening him, instead of lying, the night might have ended differently.

 _It's not that I regret it,_ she thinks, pushing her glasses up into her hair, and rubbing her eyes, _it's just that it's made everything so… complicated_.

* * *

By the time her shift is over, it's beginning to get dark outside. She'd eaten lunch in the restaurant bar, telling herself it was because she was too tired to go out, not that she was avoiding Casey. Alex steps outside, and pauses to look out across the sea front, at the sky that's a watercolour of blues and greys and pinks, the water crashing against the rocks in the distance. It isn't late enough for the beach to be empty, but the water's temperature at this time is usually cold enough to detour most people from staying for too much longer, so she decides to go for a walk, breathe in the salty sea air.

As the ground underneath her feet turns from concrete and stone, to sand, Alex shucks off her heels, undoing the top few buttons of her blouse. Her hair is loose, blowing gently in the breeze, and she takes a deep breath, feeling more relaxed than she has all day, letting her surroundings overwhelm all her senses.

When she'd first moved here, being so far away from the city had felt stifling. The city was so much a part of Alex Cabot that she didn't know how to belong anywhere else. Even in Wisconsin, doing the most tedious work of her life, she'd managed to fall into a routine, managed to find small similarities to New York. She'd been unhappy, of course, but she'd got by. Here, she'd felt like a fish out of water, dropped into a place where she would never belong. It had been like going on a vacation, but knowing she could never leave, and that had been hard to swallow. It still is, though she's finding ways to cope with it.

Back then, she'd never thought that she could find comfort in the calm, silence of the seafront.

"Alex."

She's pulled out of that sense of calm by her name being called, and she knows immediately who it is, the only person here who knows her by that name, the only person here who has the ability to make her question everything she's done since arriving.

"Casey," she says, quietly, not opening her eyes.

"Sorry, I saw you standing out here and…" she pauses, audibly sighing, "I wanted to apologise for earlier."

Alex opens her eyes, slowly, squinting up at the quickly fading sun, and then turning her head to look at Casey. She's changed out of her running clothes, is wearing a bathing suit with a loose flowing dress over the top, making her look like a different person entirely, soft around the edges. Normal, even. Alex frowns.

"Eighty percent of our conversation has been apology," she says, smoothing her hair down, catching loose strands that are being whipped about by the wind, "it seems sort of empty at this point."

She watches Casey's eyes narrow, her jaw set firm, and she immediately regrets being so hostile. It's a coping mechanism, a line of defence to avoid hurting herself again. She knows this. She lets herself relax, takes a deep breath before turning her whole body to face Casey.

"Maybe we should start over."

Casey raises her eyebrows, "I think it's a little late for that."

"Why, because you've seen me naked?" Alex says, crossing her arms.

"Maybe," Casey lowers her voice, fire blazing in her eyes, "maybe because I want to see you naked again."

She isn't sure what she was expecting, but that wasn't it. That husky, purposeful tone to Casey's voice shoots straight through Alex and she falters, swallowing thickly. She hadn't expected Casey to be so vocal, so forward about what she wants. Naively, she'd thought that they were on the same page that morning.

Maybe the whole 'completely innocent' thing was an act.

Alex wants to tell her that she's been thinking about her all day, that last night had been the most alive she's felt in weeks, months. Years, even. But, then, a part of her also wants to tell her that she isn't interested, that she'd meant it when she said it was better for them to leave this alone. The two voices in her head are so loud that she can't tell which one is going to win.

Her gaze shifts to Casey, to those intense hazel eyes of hers that are boring into her, all playfulness gone. She's standing firm and confident, but Alex can see the self-doubt in her, the fear that Alex is going to turn her down. It aches in her chest. She's completely sober, but she still wants this, and Alex knows that she does too, can feel it eating away at her inside.

"I don't want to make things complicated," Alex says, warily.

"I think it's a bit late for that, too."

Alex tilts her head, stares at Casey for a long moment. She knows she's going to beat herself up for this in the morning, that what seems like a good idea now is probably going to be a giant glaring mistake when she thinks harder about it, when she's thinking rationally, not letting her body do half the deciding.

"Your hotel this time," she says, slowly, finally, "and I want room service afterward."

* * *

Casey's hotel room is small and minimalist, with a tiny balcony looking out onto the seafront, a desk that's messy with paperwork, and a queen sized bed. Alex dumps her purse and her heels under the desk, whilst Casey goes over to pull the drapes over the glass doors of the balcony.

"Leave them," Alex says, coming up behind her and slipping her arms around Casey's waist. Her mouth finds a sensitive spot behind Casey's ear, fingers pushing soft strands of hair out of the way for better access.

"We're so close to everything, what if someone sees?" Casey asks, her breathing shallow as Alex's hands push her dress up around her waist, hands roaming over her thighs.

"Let them," Alex whispers into her ear, guiding her towards the bed.

* * *

Outside, the clicking of a camera shutter is completely lost amongst the noises of people passing by, dogs barking, children playing, waves crashing against the shore.

 _Click. Click_.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I'm glad you all are so emotionally invested in this story! To answer some questions, yeah the next story I post is going to be heavily A/C, but an ensemble piece, set around season 12/13. I'm sorry I haven't got that up just yet I've been concentrating on updating this one.

The start of this chapter is very similar to the last chapter - I wanted to explore Casey's thought process. I'm sorry that doesn't move the plot forward as much, but the rest of the chapter should!

* * *

Casey sits in her hotel room feeling stupid for at least an hour, mulling everything over and over, before she eventually feels like she's driving herself mad, and decides to go for a run. The batting cages would be preferable - taking her frustrations out on an inanimate object for a couple hours always being the best therapy - but she'll take a run at a pinch. She sweeps her hair up into a loose ponytail, pulls on a t-shirt and yoga pants, and is soon lost in the sound of her feet pounding against concrete, the wind whipping at her hair, tension draining out of her with every step.

In New York, she doesn't have much time for running, occasionally going for a jog late at night when a hard case is pressing on her, but more frequently letting it get pent up inside without any kind of release. She rarely has time for softball these days, SVU taking so much energy out of her, so much more than when she worked in White Collar. Occasionally, she'll swing by the basketball courts, but more than anything else, she feels out of place.

By the time she comes to a stop, after running up and down through the winding roads away from the hotel, and now, down onto the sea front, she's struggling for breath, and stops only because she has to, her legs threatening to give out. She's run more in the last three days than she has in a year. It's a good ache, though. She hasn't had a chance to think about Alex, to reminisce, or agonise, over the night before, not even for a second.

Except, of course, as soon as Casey reaches that realisation, she's thinking about her. She can't help it. Alex's eyes are the colour of the ocean spray, and her hair as golden as the sand beneath Casey's feet, and when she closes her eyes, Casey can think of nothing but her. It sends a giddy feeling through her, and it's embarrassing, but she can't stop herself from reliving the night before.

And no amount of running is going to take that way.

She goes back to the hotel, careful not to even risk a glance into the window at the Harbour House, not wanting to catch even the smallest glimpse of blonde hair. Only when she's back in her own room does she relax, leaning against the door, eyes closed, and pressing the heels of her hands against her temples. How could she have been so stupid, to think that someone like Alex might actually be interested in someone like her? And now, how naive was she to think that she could just let it go that easily, like it was nothing, like it meant _nothing._

 _I might not be the best Catholic, but I am better than this_ , she thinks, pressing her hands into her face until stars start to dance behind her eyelids. She's spent her whole life trying to deal with feelings she didn't want to make sense of, but this… this is different. She can pretend as much as she wants that this was meaningless but it isn't.

And now she's fucked everything up. Again.

Every single element of her life has felt like it's been out of her control for the longest time; her work, the up-hill struggle that it's been to get the detectives she works with to trust her, that's only the tip of the ice-berg. She's been able to pretend for so long that she can control her feelings, but one kiss from Alexandra Cabot, and she can feel herself spiralling, clinging on with everything she has.

She doesn't deal well with rejection, never has done. It seeps into her bones, a disease she can't get rid of.

 _This isn't you._

But, god, it _is_ her. She's always been a mess.

"You're not doing this," Casey growls under her breath, forcing herself up from where she's slumped against the door, and yanking her t-shirt off over her head, practically tipping her suitcase over in her haste to search it. Finally, she tugs her bathing suit out, a last minute addition that she hadn't really expected to find a use for. If running wasn't cutting it, maybe a cold swim in the sea would snap her out of this nonsense.

* * *

She's drying her hair with a towel when she sees the familiar figure heading towards her on the beach. It's quiet. The sun is starting to go down, pushing most people out to the restaurants along the sea front, or back to their hotels. A few children are playing in a rock pool, their parents still stretched out on the sand; two men are tossing a frisbee around a little further down, but the beach is quiet mostly. Alex isn't the only person going for an evening walk along the waterfront, but she's the only one who Casey takes notice of.

Scooping her hair over her shoulder, Casey steps into her tennis shoes, watching Alex out of the corner of her eye. She looks lost in her thoughts, completely unaware of anybody else's presence, let alone Casey's. Something about how troubled she looks, the way she stops, closing her eyes, looking just as lost as Casey feels, is momentarily reassuring. It's enough to give Casey the confidence boost to call after her.

Alex addresses her without even looking at her, and Casey feels her heart sink. She doesn't know what she wants to say, hadn't really thought that far ahead. An apology doesn't seem right, but it slips out all the same, even though she knows immediately that it's the wrong thing, especially when Alex sighs, finally turning to look at her. Alex pushes her glasses up onto her head, smoothing out her hair, and Casey watches her, feeling the tenseness right down to her bones.

If Alex is being hostile, she can be hostile too. She can pretend she doesn't care. She's spent long enough forcing herself.

"Maybe we should start over."

"I think it's a little late for that," Casey says, honestly, and she knows she means it. That's kind of the problem. It was too late the moment she decided to show up at Alex's work with ice cream, the moment she agreed to split that bottle of wine. The moment she allowed herself to go home with her.

"Why, because you've seen me naked?"

Casey almost scoffs. She almost tells Alex to grow up. But in that split second, she makes a decision. Maybe the same stupid decision she made the night before, only this time she can't blame it on the alcohol. The words come out of her mouth before she can stop them, before she can process what she means. Or maybe she already has processed it, and realised that no matter how far she runs, how long she spends trying to drown it out under water, it's not going to go away. Feelings aside, she craves Alex. She hasn't stopped thinking about her all day.

Only, once the words have come out, she realises how exposed she's making herself. She thinks if Alex turns her down now, she'll spend the rest of this vacation tearing herself apart until there's only tiny pieces of her left to go back to New York. She can't explain it, doesn't want to put a label onto it. _This was supposed to be_ fun _, Novak._ But she knows this was inevitable, that she's never been able to _just have fun_.

"Your hotel this time," Alex says, and Casey's heart practically leaps into her throat, "and I want room service afterward."

* * *

Alex walks with her hand on the small of her back, smiles, says good evening to the clerk at the front desk, presses the buttons on the elevator without even waiting for Casey's approval. She's charming, professional, every bit the Alex Cabot that Casey remembers from New York City.

Until she isn't.

She stops her from pulling the drapes. She pushes the thin fabric of Casey's dress up to pool around her hips, and pauses to brush her hair to one side, to whisper into her ear that she doesn't care if they're seen, like maybe she _wants_ them to be seen. And Casey's never thought she'd be into that, but suddenly the thought is there, planted, in Alex's husky voice, breath warm on her skin, and she feels her heart race as Alex leads her to the bed.

She leaves the drapes.

Alex's hands roam over her thighs, her hips, kissing her hard. She pauses when they reach the bed, pulls her dress up and over Casey's head, tossing it behind her, not caring where it lands. Casey reaches for her blouse, already partly undone, and tugs it loose from her skirt, capturing Alex's lips in a long, hungry kiss as she peels the fabric from her body. She's determined to give as good as she gets. Her lips find their way to the hollow of Alex's throat, down to the dip of her collarbone, and she nips at the flesh of her shoulder, as Alex wrestles with the tie of her bikini top.

"Trying to level the playing field?" Alex pants, finally struggling the knot loose, as Casey reaches to unhook her bra.

"'Trying'?" Casey quips, her face still buried in the curve between Alex's neck and her shoulder. She sinks her teeth lightly into the soft flesh there, smirking when she feels Alex exhale deeply, a hiss of a curse word on her breath.

Once Casey's finally managed to work the hooks of her bra undone, Alex lets her guide her down flat onto the bed, slowly pulling the silky garment off her, one arm at a time. Casey wriggles her black pencil skirt off, too, leaving Alex in nothing but her underwear. As the blonde tries to sit up, Casey shakes her head, gently pushing her back down, before climbing onto the bed herself, straddling her.

"God, Case—" Alex mumbles as Casey rubs against her, purposefully slow, before slinking down to kiss her.

Even the brush of their bodies, through clothes, sends shivers through them both. Alex strains, her hips bucking, before Casey pushes them down flush to the bed with her thighs.

"You were so quick to decide we shouldn't do this again," Casey says, through laboured breaths, "how about now?"

Alex stares up at her, arms pinned to her sides, her eyes dark with raw lust, and her lips already slightly swollen. She shakes her head, chest heaving with every movement, and Casey smiles down at her, without a hint of malice. She visibly relents, dipping her head to scatter soft, tender kisses across Alex's jawline, before moving slowly down her body. She's aware of Alex's fingers curling in her hair now that she's let go of her, hands roaming elsewhere, but Alex's touch is gentle, not like the night before.

She gasps when Casey's lips close around a pink nipple, their eyes meeting, before Casey looks away, unable to stop herself from blushing. She's trying so hard to control this situation, but she feels like a fraud, can't quite perform the way Alex had. Still, she's eliciting the reaction she wants, as she lazily circles the bud with her tongue, her hand dropping to between Alex's thighs. She slips inside the sodden fabric of her underwear, and Alex practically whimpers at the contact. It isn't enough, even as Casey runs the tip of her finger through the wetness, before drawing back.

"You're a tease," Alex grinds out, attempting to lift her hips for closer contact.

"No, Cabot," Casey murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Alex's ribs, "what you did last night was teasing," she rubs her finger ever so slowly over the very tip of where Alex wants her, enjoying the resulting shudder, the sharp exhale, "I'm just taking my time."

* * *

They do order room service. Casey puts on one of the cotton waffle robes hanging in the closet, smoothes out her hair as best she can, and brings in the tray of food herself, hoping the delivery guy doesn't notice the dark marks on her neck. Alex is sitting up in the bed, the sheet pooled around her waist, naked aside from the glasses that are perched on her nose.

Casey at least has had the foresight to pull the drapes, now.

"How you can want to eat after that, I do not know," Casey says, bringing the tray to the bed, and sitting down beside Alex.

"How can you _not_ need to eat after that? Food consumption after vigorous activity is a standard. I thought you played sports?"

Casey rolls her eyes, but she's blushing, even as she lays the tray out on Alex's lap, fussing with the accompanying cutlery, "hunters chicken, though? Really?"

"Hey, it's just what I fancied," Alex says, taking the cutlery from her before she can spend any more time trying to arrange it neatly, "are you sure you won't eat some?"

"I'm perfectly happy with my coffee, thank you."

"Suit yourself," Alex shrugs, lifting the lid off the plate of food, as Casey leans across to retrieve her coffee cup from the end table, prepared to refill it. She's already halfway across to the machine, when she realises Alex isn't eating, she can't hear the scrape of the knife and fork on the plate.

"Hey, I paid good money for—" she pauses when she sees the look on Alex's face, and follows the blonde's line of vision down to her plate. On first glance, everything seems normal, but then she sees it.

It's spelt out in the thick, smeary barbecue sauce.

 _"BITCH"_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** whilst not a lot really happens in this chapter, it's a stressful one. It was stressful to write. I hope the decision I reached makes sense to everyone haha. Thanks for your continued support. I'm afraid updates may be slightly less frequent as of next week as I'm starting a new job, but I'll post as soon as I can.

It should be mentioned that my understanding of WITSEC is based only on tv and a brief bit of research I did prior to writing this story so a lot of the facts are probably off.

* * *

Alex remembers what it was like to be shot. She remembers the feeling of a bullet entering her body, how initially it had felt like being hit hard and square in the shoulder, more shock than pain, until suddenly the pain of it was unbearable. She still remembers it now, still feels herself wince when Casey's lips gently graze the scar, even years after it's healed.

Seeing that word smeared across her dinner, she feels like she's been shot all over again. Even if it is only for a second, it's terrifying, and the rush of memories is all-consuming, the jolt of cold horror that runs through her.

For the first few months in WITSEC, she'd been too afraid to leave the house. She'd been determined she wasn't going to let this thing, this man, destroy her entirely, to break down her resolve and turn her into a weak woman, but after a car backfiring had sent her diving to the ground, heart hammering in her ears, eyes squeezed tight… she'd felt safe only within the four walls of her new home.

And then she hadn't even felt safe there. Despite knowing how the system worked, despite having offered it to dozens of witnesses too afraid to speak up in court without the promise of a new identity, any sense of trust she'd had in the system had cracked once she was on the other side of it. Every loud noise in the street was a gun shot, any knock on her front door meant that they'd found her. It had taken a long time to get past that, to begin to be able to get on with her life.

Since moving here, she'd relaxed almost entirely. The man who shot her had been put away, the cartel that he worked for so far under the microscope that there wasn't a chance they'd find her here. She'd assumed a new identity, even changed her look up (minimally) at Hammond's suggestion, and she no longer spent her time listening for steps behind her, or worrying that her phone might be bugged. Alex - no, _Christine_ \- went to work, and watched TV with a glass of wine at night, and even occasionally swam out in the sea without worrying about who was behind her or who was watching her or who might figure out the truth.

Casey had clearly thought she was insane to be so laid-back about it, but she hadn't been there to witness how much of a fragile shell of a woman being shot had left Alex as. She didn't know how long it had taken for her to not feel any of those things. All she'd seen was the confident and calm and collected Alex Cabot everybody knew, testifying in court against the man who shot her, as if it were nothing. As if her pulse hadn't been racing and her hands hadn't been clammy with sweat. As if every day in that safe house in New York hadn't been terrifying.

 _And now it's starting all over again,_ Alex thinks, still staring at the plate in shock.

Casey had been right to be wary.

"They know I'm here," Alex says, her breathing shaky as she pulls the bed sheet up to cover her, "they must have followed you, seen you with me."

 _Why did you have to come here? Why of every town in the whole of North America did you have to choose this one?_ She can't help the anger that boils up in her, rage boiling through her blood, a by-product of fear. Why be afraid, when you can be angry? One is weak, the other strong, and god knows, Alex doesn't want to allow herself to be weak, not again.

"I don't know why anybody would do that," Casey says, sinking into the mattress, "nobody knew we were going to see each other here, even I didn't know you'd be here. It was all just coincidence."

"They've probably been following you since the trial. You, Liv, Elliot… everyone who has ever come into contact with me. And you led them straight to me! Christ, I knew this was a bad idea…"

"I didn't—-"

"God, how could I have been so stupid?! This, whatever it is, it isn't worth _dying over_."

"Surely, if they were going to kill you, they'd just kill you, they wouldn't let you know they know you're here, wouldn't waste their time sending messages," Casey says, slowly, and Alex scoffs in response.

She knows it isn't Casey's fault, but that doesn't stop her. Even seeing the look in Casey's eyes, the tears that are gathering in her eyes, doesn't stop her.

"They're playing with me. They know exactly what they're doing. They'll get a kick out of knowing there's nothing I can do!"

"So, call the US Marshal. Speak to your handler. Better yet, call the CAPD."

Alex glares at her, "because I got threatened by a condiment? You're kidding right?" _I don't want to be moved again, I can't go through it all again._

Besides, they both know the law doesn't always work in their favour.

For a long time, Casey doesn't say anything, the tension in the room so thick it feels like it might strangle them. Alex puts the lid back over the plate, sets the tray on the floor, moving a lot more calmly than she feels, and then burying her face in her hands. She wants to get dressed, Casey's hotel room suddenly the last place on earth that she wants to be. The bed back in her apartment might still not feel like home, but it's familiar, and private, and she doesn't want to be anywhere near Casey. Still, she doesn't move, too panicked to do anything or go anywhere.

"I don't know what to do to help you," Casey says, eventually, "I got you into this mess, but it's so beyond my law capabilities. I…" she lowers her head, twisting the sash from her robe over and over in her fingers, "I just don't know what to do."

"Neither do I," Alex tells her, reluctantly, like admitting to it will somehow force Casey to realise that she's been a fraud all this time.

In any other circumstance, she'd be able to rationalise this, but she can't. Her mind's racing through every single face she's seen in the past two days, every person who's walked their dog by her, or served her a drink. She feels so stupid, having let her guard down.

"Maybe I should call Liv, she'd—"

Alex glares at her, "and blow my cover to somebody else? Yeah, that's an excellent idea, Casey."

Casey sets her jaw, and Alex watches her throat constrict as she swallows, the hurt that appears in her eyes before it vanishes. "I just think talking to a cop who actually knows the situation might help. Sitting here, naked, in my hotel room, is not going to help anyone."

"You're right," Alex snaps, throwing off the sheets, and inadvertently the uneaten plate of food too, which clatters to the floor, "I have to get out of here."

For a moment Casey looks caught between clearing up the mess, and following her, but eventually - thankfully - goes for the former, leaving Alex to escape to the bathroom, her clothes bundled up in her arms.

She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and winces. Her neck looks like a horny teenager's, covered in purpling marks, scratches across her shoulders. Her hair is a tangled mess. She leans forward against the basin, splashes cold water from the faucet onto her face, and rubs at her skin, barely recognising herself in the bright white lights of the hotel room. Her skin is so pale it's almost translucent, despite spending so much time in the sun. With water dripping down her cheeks, it looks even worse.

Hurrying back into her clothes, Alex is just trying to sort her hair out when there's a knock on the door. She immediately tenses, despite knowing it's just Casey.

"You can come in," she says, around a bobby pin in her mouth, hands busy trying to twist blonde strands into an up-do.

"Do you want me to call you a cab? I have a number."

Alex quickly weighs the options up: a cab driver who could have been sent to kill her, or someone killing her on the half an hour's walk. They both seem pretty risky. Sighing, she decides she can't do either, cursing when half of her hair slips from between her fingers, and she has to start over.

"They could take you somewhere other than your apartment… outside of town, maybe? Just for a few days until—"

"Until what? If they've found me, they'll find me again. Or, I'll be running for the rest of my life."

Alex sighs, leaning against the marble counter and burying her head in her hands, letting her hair fall messily around her shoulders. She knows she's being unreasonable, that Casey is just trying to help, but if she could just think for a moment…

 _What would Liv do?_ She thinks, bitterly, and then retracts the thought when she remembers how quick to dismiss calling her she had been. Maybe Casey was right. Olivia had gotten her out of enough sticky situations back in the day…

…then again, she hadn't been able to keep her safe from Liam Connors.

"Maybe we're blowing this whole thing out of proportion," Alex says, after the silence has stretched between them for an uncomfortable period of time, "if someone wanted me dead, and they'd found me already, I'd _be_ dead."

Casey bites on her bottom lip, "in the original case, they threatened you, let you know they had eyes and ears on you, and then later shot at you. It's a similar pattern."

Alex feels tears coming to her eyes, and angrily tries to swipe them away, turning back to the sink. The last thing she needs is to be perceived as weak, to have Casey see her cry, let alone anybody else.

"I just want to go home. I don't think there's any point in mulling over whether I will or won't get shot at," she leans against the sink, ducking her head, "I'll call in, see if I can get someone sent to sit outside my apartment for the night. Precautionary."

She had done the same thing when she'd first moved to Wisconsin, back when hearing a car door slam had almost sent her into a panic attack. It was embarrassing, but it had made her feel safer then, and she hopes it will do the same thing now.

"Will they be able to pick you up from here?"

Alex snorts, turning to face her, "I'd rather they didn't. I think if they see me leaving a hotel in the dark they'll put two and two together."

Raising an eyebrow, Casey folds her arms, "I never took you for a prude."

Alex chuckles, and then catches herself. At least the tension has eased a little, at least she feels like she can breathe now. She shakes her head, running her fingers through her hair, pushing it back off her face.

"I'm sorry for how I reacted in there," she says, finally, holding Casey's gaze, "how I spoke to you."

Casey shrugs, "it's fine, I know this was my fault."

"It isn't. If I hadn't chosen to speak to you, if I'd just let you walk on past, you wouldn't have known I was here. I made that first contact, not you."

"Yeah, but I pushed it. I… pursued you."

"I wanted to be pursued," Alex admits, "even if you hadn't shown up that day with the ice cream… I would have gone looking for you. I don't exactly know why, but I do know I would have. I wouldn't have been able to stop myself."

She pushes off from the counter and towards Casey, moves one hand gently to cup her face, brushing messy strands of hair back and behind her ear. Casey nuzzles into her, just slightly, her lips pressing against her palm, and it's such an unfamiliar, tender movement that it takes Alex by surprise. So much so, that she lets her hand slip away, and Casey drops her gaze to the floor.

"How are you going to get home?" she asks, awkwardly fiddling with the sash of her robe again.

"I can walk to the apartment," Alex tells her, even though there's an inner voice telling her that she's just being stubborn, and stupid, and it was that which got her into this mess in the first place.

"I'll come with you," Casey says, earnestly.

"No offence, Case, but I'm not sure how much of a deterrence you'll be."

Casey's lips quirk up into a small smile, "I can give a mean hit with a softball bat I'll have you know."

"That doesn't make you bullet proof," Alex whispers, the conversation turning much more serious.

Casey touches her hand, just briefly, the same one where the ghost of her kiss is lingering, "neither are you."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Hey guys sorry this is a shorter chapter but I've not got much time to update at the moment. I hope you'll enjoy it anyway.

* * *

Despite knowing she has no right to be, Casey can't help but feel hurt by how quickly Alex seems to blame her for the whole situation. When Alex apologises, though, she knows it's sincere. When she admits that she'd wanted to be pursued, that she would have gone after Casey regardless, the hurt more or less dissipates into something else, a new, unfamiliar feeling. She can't resist leaning into Alex's touch, brushing her lips over the palm of her hand, even though she knows she probably shouldn't, and is proven right when Alex pulls away.

Still, she's not going to let Alex walk home alone. Alex might think _she's_ stubborn, but she's met her match in Casey.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather get a cab?" she asks as Alex returns to trying to fix her hair. Her fingers are shaking, the cracks in her bravado showing even as she tries so hard to disguise it. _She's human after all._

She watches Alex weigh up her options via her reflection in the bathroom mirror. It hardly seems real that only twenty minutes ago, they were content in bed, joking over room service. Her heart aches because she knows they'll never go back to that easiness between them.

"You're right," Alex sighs, "you got that number?"

"I'll call."

* * *

Alex doesn't leave the window the whole time they wait for the cab. She stands to the side, hidden by the drapes, and stares out whilst Casey gets dressed. The tension in the room is almost unbearable, and when the phone suddenly rings, they both practically leap out of their skins.

"It's just the front desk, telling me our ride's here," Casey rationalises, reaching for the receiver. Even so, she's relieved when she finds herself proven right. She thanks them, all the while watching Alex nervously rubbing her neck, pacing across the hotel room.

They head downstairs. It's a little after nine and the hotel is mostly quiet, aside from the faint hum of noise coming from the bar at the back. Casey smiles at the desk clerk before holding open the door for Alex, trying to ignore the thumping rhythm of her heart pounding in her chest. Alex looks pretty well put together, her jaw set firm, hands in the pockets of Casey's pea-coat, which is a little large on her. Her right hand is flexing nervously, though, a tell-tale sign that she isn't as calm as she's trying to act.

Once outside, Casey looks around. She knows she's no detective, that she doesn't have the same keen eye for suspicious activity that her friends at SVU have, but she does it anyway, hoping to at least pretend to herself that she might be able to keep Alex safe. The cab is parked right outside, the driver an older guy. He's leaning out of the window, smoking a cigarette, but quickly stubs it out when they walk up.

"Ms. Smith?" he asks, glancing between them, and Casey nods. She doesn't miss Alex's raised eyebrow before she opens the car door for her. It's not the most original fake name, but she'd panicked.

Alex visibly relaxes, even only slightly, as soon as they're safely in the back of the cab. Her hands are clenched in her lap, but, just as the car pulls away from the curb, Casey reaches over and takes one of them, squeezing gently. Alex stares at their linked hands, then up at her, and for a second, their eyes meet in the dim light, and something electric flows between them. Alex's gaze droops to her lips, then back up again, and Casey subconsciously sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, tilting her head ever so slightly.

But then it's over. Alex turns to look out of the window.

Casey keeps Alex's hand, though, threading their fingers together, her thumb rubbing soothing circles against Alex's soft skin.

"You ladies here on vacation?"

"Yeah," Casey says, reluctantly.

"Where from?"

 _Thank God I'm a lawyer and know how to think fast,_ Casey thinks, forcing a smile, "Chicago."

The cab driver nods, grinning at them in the rearview mirror, "ahhh, nice, big city. Very different from here."

"Yeah."

"What do you do in Chicago?"

Alex lets out an exasperated huff, "no offence, but would you mind if we drove in silence? I have a pounding headache."

The driver's smile falters for only a second, "of course, ma'am, I didn't mean to cause any offence."

Alex sighs, slumping in her seat and pressing her free hand to her forehead. Squeezing her fingers, Casey leans across, unable to resist brushing a few stray strands of blonde hair behind her ear. Alex looks at her, slowly pulling her hand away from her face.

Despite everything, she smiles softly, and Casey feels her heart drop.

* * *

They make it back to the apartment in less than ten minutes, and Casey tips the driver a $20 bill for driving in silence. She debates asking him to wait, expecting that Alex won't want her to stay, but decides against it. The walk back will be good for her. Wordlessly, Alex takes her hand as they start up the stairs of the building, having only let go to slide out of the car.

From outside, everything looks normal. They make it to her front door, and it's just as they left it that morning. Alex's hand trembles slightly as she fits the key in the lock, and then the door is open, and she's switching lights on. The apartment is just how they left it. Still, they check every room just in case, Casey trailing behind, until Alex is sure everything's clear. Then, she sinks onto the couch, and tension rolls off her in waves. She takes her glasses off, pinches the bridge of her nose.

Casey stays awkwardly stood in the living room doorway.

"Maybe it really was an empty threat," Alex says, propping her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands. She turns her face to look at Casey, "maybe I made too big a deal out of this."

"Or, they're just waiting to make a move. Maybe they're waiting for you to be alone."

Alex groans, burying her face in her hands again. Tentatively, Casey joins her on the couch, putting a hand gently on her knee. Alex flinches at the touch, but then relaxes, lifting her head.

"I don't think you should be alone," Casey says, carefully.

"I don't think it will make much difference but…" Alex pauses, nibbling on the corner of her lip, "but I want you here."

Smiling softly, Casey lifts her hand from Alex's knee and moves it up, into her hair, drawing her closer. Alex goes willingly. She presses their foreheads together, fingers tangling in Alex's hair, cradling the side of her head. Alex lifts her chin, forcing their lips to meet, and it's so gentle, so different from how they kissed before, it makes Casey sigh.

"Casey…" Alex murmurs, pulling ever so slightly away. She searches Casey's eyes, and Casey can hear her pulse racing.

"It's okay," she breathes, "I know this is just what we both need right now."

Alex kisses her again. It isn't hungry or desperate, it's soft, sweet, and Casey melts into it, allowing Alex to deepen the kiss, pushing her down until her head rests against the arm of the couch, one hand still stroking the side of her face. She reaches behind her and turns off the floor lamp, casting the room into darkness, before kissing her again.

In the dark, Casey's arms loop around Alex's neck, pulling her closer. There's no sense of urgency to their kissing, to the lazy way Alex's hand brushes against Casey's side, underneath her shirt, rubbing the soft, warm skin there. It's not the action of two people who have slept together, who have bit and scratched and consumed each other for two nights in a row, but instead tentative, tender.

Eventually, Alex pulls away, "we should sleep," she says, sighing.

Casey nods, struggling to sit up under Alex's weight, until the blonde carefully lifts herself off the couch. Her hair's falling out of its up-do, her cheeks pink. She looks beautiful. Casey almost says as much, but then bites her tongue. That isn't what this is.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Thank you for bearing with me as my updates become a little more spaced apart! This chapter is mostly pure fluff.

* * *

Despite being absolutely exhausted, sleep doesn't find Alex. She lies on her side, watching the glowing red numbers on the clock on her end-table change, and listening to Casey's soft, rhythmic breathing from behind her. Her mind's racing, running through every possible scenario, every stranger's face that she might have seen over the past few days, that might have led her to this point. There had been a van parked opposite her apartment building the other morning, a man inside, but she'd only considered him suspicious for thirty seconds before realising she was acting paranoid. Now, however, she can't stop wondering.

She tries to rationalise the facts: they've only made contact at Casey's hotel so far. There's still a chance that they don't know where she lives. If they do know, why haven't they made a move already?

Sighing, Alex squeezes her eyes closed, trying once again to force herself to sleep. She at least doesn't have work tomorrow, which is a definite blessing. They can stay camped out in the apartment for the day, figure out a plan of action. Then again…

She rolls onto her back and looks over at Casey, peacefully sleeping with her face turned towards Alex, one hand in the gap between them, as if reaching for her. Alex can't help but watch her for a while, revelling in how soft and delicate she looks, a contrast to how she is when she's awake. She feels that same flutter in her chest, that tug that she's been trying so hard to ignore. The men she'd slept with in Wisconsin - all two of them - had been about comfort, about not being alone in a place where she constantly felt empty and hollow. She'd winced hearing 'Emily' spill from their lips during sex, or the name mumbled in their sleep. Ultimately, though, leaving them behind had not been heartbreaking.

Casey leaving, though…

 _Get a grip, Cabot, that's the last thing you should be worrying about._

As if to prove the point, Alex's brain darts back to running through worst case scenarios. She rolls over, flipping her pillow over. It isn't any cooler on the other side - she's already flipped it a half dozen times. Instead of resting her head on it, she draws it close to her, wrapping her arms around it in a way that she wishes she had the courage to do to the sleeping woman on the other side of her. She feels stupid, burying her face in the fabric, and rather than comforting her, she finds herself using it to muffle her groan of frustration, pressing the pillow against her face so hard that she sees stars.

She feels an arm wrap around her from behind, her grip on the pillow loosening as soft hair tickles at her shoulder blades, lips pressing at the side of her head. Casey coaxes her into dropping the pillow and rolling towards her, angry tears dissipating in Alex's eyes as she sinks into her embrace. Tossing her embarrassment aside, she lets Casey pull her close, resting her head on the redhead's chest as fingers dance gently through her hair, Casey whispering soothing words with a sleepy mouth.

"I've got you," she murmurs, her hand settling in the small of Alex's back, "I've got you, you're okay."

Eventually, Alex finally falls asleep.

* * *

Alex wakes to the soft hum of the radio in the kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee reaching her immediately. She rolls over, blearily looking at the clock. It's the latest she's slept in in a long time. Then again, it was late by the time she'd fallen asleep.

Grabbing her glasses off the night stand, Alex sits up, raking her fingers through messy blonde hair, before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. The drapes are still closed, and she can't resist peeking out to check on that van from the other morning before she goes down, relieved when a quick scan of the street reveals that it's nowhere in sight. Not that that necessarily means anything, but she can't see anyone else suspicious, either.

Slipping her robe on, she heads downstairs, smiling when she realises she can hear Casey singing along to the radio. Her voice is soft and throaty, not really carrying a proper tune, but that makes it all the more endearing to Alex, especially as she reaches the doorway, and is met with the sight of Casey cooking breakfast, her hips swaying to the music. She's wearing the same over-sized t-shirt Alex had leant her before, and a pair of pastel pink pyjama shorts Alex had forgotten she owned. Alex leans against the wooden doorway and watches her for a while, content to just enjoy the view. The Fleetwood Mac song fades into something else, and Casey stills, the moment over.

Alex clears her throat.

"Shit," Casey hisses, almost knocking over the pan she's tending to on the hot-plate as she jumps at the unexpected sound. She catches the side of the pan and winces, drawing her hand away and shaking it out.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Alex apologises, immediately rushing to her aid.

She gives the burn on her hand a quick glance, then moves to the sink, running the faucet cold and holding Casey's fingers under it. She's aware of Casey's gaze on her. After a moment she turns the faucet off, lifting Casey's hand to her mouth and pressing her lips gently against the slightly raised skin on her index finger.

"Good as new," she says, letting go.

Casey smiles at her a moment, bemused, before returning to the pan of eggs.

"I _was_ going to surprise you with breakfast in bed, but I guess that idea's shot now," Casey grumbles, scraping at the eggs that are firmly stuck to the bottom of the pan with a spatula, "you like eggs, right?"

"Love 'em," Alex says, absently, moving to sit down at the breakfast bar.

"Good. There's bacon too, and toast. And the coffee's fresh," she glances over her shoulder, "did you sleep okay?"

Pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot, Alex shrugs her shoulders, "not really. I'm sorry for…"

"Hey, it's okay," Casey leans across, placing a gentle hand on Alex's arm, before returning to the breakfast.

Within minutes, a plate of food is sitting in front of Alex, along with a second cup of coffee. Casey hesitantly takes the seat opposite her, suddenly seeming awkward. She watches Alex eat, but barely touches her own plate, instead leaving her hands fidgeting in her lap. After a while, the silence becomes too much, and Alex has to say something.

"Casey…" she starts, putting down her fork.

"I've been thinking and I think I should call my dad. He's military and he knows people in this town. He can call in a favour, get us a list of recent employees at the hotel and—"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Alex interrupts, then quickly backtracks when she sees the look on Casey's face, "I just don't think snooping around is going to help anything. Anyway, I overreacted. It was _food._ That could have been a… coincidence or a practical joke."

"We both know that wasn't unintentional, Alex! Don't play this off as if it was nothing, you were so terrified that you cried yourself to sleep last night."

Alex's jaw stiffens, a lump forming in the back of her throat, and she automatically becomes defensive.

Casey continues: "if you think it's nothing, then fine. I'll go back to my hotel as soon as we're done here."

"No!" Alex blurts, embarrassed by her own lack of control in this situation, "no, I don't want you to go back there."

"So you _do_ think it's dangerous?"

She relents, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing, "yes, but I think it's more dangerous for us to play detective and try to figure this thing out for ourselves. I'd rather we just… laid low here for a couple of days. If nothing happens, then we can assume it's an isolated incident."

Casey doesn't look so sure, picking up her fork and finally, slowly, eating a mouthful of eggs. She lays the fork down again, licks her lips. Alex watches her, unable to drag her eyes away.

"Okay," Casey finally says.

"Okay?"

She nods, "okay, I'll stay here, I won't call anyone."

"Thank you," Alex says, feeling strangely calm about everything. They return to eating, and it's comforting, quietly sharing this moment with somebody else. _No, not with_ somebody else _, with Casey,_ she thinks, looking over at the redhead. Even drinking coffee, her hair mussed and loose around her shoulders, her face without a scrap of make-up, she looks beautiful, and Alex is overwhelmed by how much she wants to kiss her, again.

She doesn't, though.

"I'm sorry I ruined your vacation," she says, instead.

Casey looks up at her, surprise evident in her eyes as she dismisses her, "you didn't. I'd still be in my hotel room, avoiding the outside world and mulling over case files if I hadn't bumped into you," she smiles softly, "I don't know how to vacation."

Alex laughs at this, "oh, me either. I don't think I took a single vacation in the four years I worked for SVU."

"That surprises me," Casey says, raising an eyebrow, "I always pictured you sipping cocktails in the Bahamas or something. Going for spa days."

Laughing, Alex shakes her head. She'd taken maybe one vacation day, and that had been for a funeral. Anything else had been work related - conferences or charity events she couldn't possibly miss. Her mind had always been on the work. In that way, Casey and her aren't so dissimilar. It's what made leaving, going into a mundane, unimportant job, all the more hard.

Casey starts to clear their plates, despite hers still having half her meal on it, Alex watching her as she moves around the kitchen as though she belongs there, as though this isn't only her second time visiting the apartment. The sight of somebody else moving through a space Alex has never shared makes her feel warm, unexpectedly contented.

"Still, I'm sorry that you're going to be stuck here with me rather than out enjoying the sun," she apologises again, unable to take her eyes off Casey.

Casey turns to look at her, her lips turning up into a soft smirk, "I'm sure we can find something else to enjoy doing whilst we're 'stuck here'."

"Oh really?" Alex asks, lifting her coffee cup to her lips, playing innocent, "what did you have in mind?"

Plucking the cup out of her hands, Casey places it on the counter, before settling herself onto the edge of the table, leaning down to capture Alex's lips in a soft kiss that quickly grows deeper. Alex tangles her fingers in her hair, trying to draw her closer, but as quickly as the kiss has begun, it's over, and Casey jumps down, heading back to the sink.

"Well, for starters, you can help me with these dishes."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** not entirely sure if anyone's still reading this but thank you for bearing with me if you are!

* * *

Part of Casey thinks she must be having a brain aneurism or something.

Casey Novak doesn't do relationships, but she _also_ doesn't do sleeping around. She's sure most people in her office, most of her squad, think she has no sexuality whatsoever. And maybe that's how she's conditioned herself to be, since Charlie. It's been a little over four years, but the heart break still feels fresh. She's avoided falling for anybody as a protective barrier for her own heart, and she knows that, so what is she doing here, with Alex, pretending like they're a normal couple doing normal couple things?

Casey had been half asleep when she'd realised Alex was crying the night before, and her instinct had been to pull her close, to hold her until she calmed down, so she'd gone with it, not really considering the consequences. She'd cooked them breakfast in the morning because it seemed like the right thing to do. But watching Alex eat, all she'd wanted to do was kiss her. And then she had. And it hadn't ended there. Again.

Sitting in Alex's bathroom, Casey drops her head into her hands. She knows she should be more concerned about the potential threat to Alex's life, but for some reason that part feels easier to deal with. That part makes sense to her. It's everything else that's so complicated.

"Case?" Alex calls, knocking on the door softly, drawing Casey out of her thoughts, "you alright?"

How long has she been in here? Quickly getting to her feet and wiping at her eyes, Casey tries to recompose herself, turning the faucet on and splashing water onto her face.

"Yeah, be out in a sec," she calls back, trying to neaten out her hair, which seems pointless when she's wearing nothing but a t-shirt, but still.

When she finally emerges from the bathroom, Alex is sitting on the bed, legs stretched out in front of her, reading a newspaper. Her hair hangs loose over one shoulder, and she's wearing her silk bathrobe, only covering her down to her thighs. Her toenails are painted red. Casey thinks that if she'd ever actually imagined what Alex Cabot would look like lounging in her own home, this is the exact image that would have sprung to mind.

As Casey sits down on the bed, Alex folds the newspaper closed.

"Today's paper?" Casey asks, sitting cross legged.

"Yesterdays," Alex says, dumping it onto the end table, "I was trying to distract myself with it, but it didn't work."

"Reading your horoscope?" Casey teases, evoking a small smile from Alex as she nudges her shoulder.

"Yeah, it said I should be wary of leggy redheads with wandering hands… any idea what that could mean?"

Casey laughs, running her fingers lightly down Alex's leg, "no idea," she leans over to her and kisses the side of her face, her hand moving further up, skimming the edge of Alex's robe, "I wouldn't describe myself as 'leggy' though."

Alex lifts her head ever so slightly, and Casey welcomes the invitation, kissing the spot below her ear, and then along her jawline, her hand on Alex's thigh. She tries to ignore the voice in the back of her head that's still worrying about what all of this means, and focus on Alex, on the way her breath catches when Casey's mouth finds her pulse-point, sucking lightly.

"My hair isn't even really red at the moment," Casey whispers, right by her ear.

"Shut up," Alex chuckles, low and throaty. She rolls them over, pinning Casey to the bed, and kisses her, slowly, taking her time. For a second, Casey allows herself to imagine what this would be like if they were just a normal couple, if this was their every day. Warmth spreads through her, and she smiles against Alex's lips.

Then, Alex's phone starts to ring.

The noise takes them both by surprise, and Alex presses one last gentle kiss to her lips before reluctantly pulling away, walking over to the phone. Casey sits up, can't help but smile as she watches Alex in all her disheveled beauty, swinging her hair back over to one side and lifting the receiver to her ear. She glances back at Casey, and she's smiling too, and Casey has to look away. It's like looking into the sun.

"Hello?" Alex says, her voice just slightly different, slightly more professional. Casey wonders how many times she's gone to say 'Cabot' into her phone, and had to stop herself. "I'm sorry, I can't quite hear you. Who is this?"

Frowning, Alex holds the phone to her ear a while longer, repeating 'hello', before eventually giving up and hanging up. She moves slowly back to the bed and sits down heavily.

"Wrong number?"

Alex shrugs, "not sure. Maybe somebody accidentally dialled - I could hear talking but it was too far away."

She sounds nonchalant, but the look of worry on her face gives her away. She frowns, crossing her legs and leaning back into the pillows.

"I know I've never been in your situation," Casey starts, slowly, "but I was attacked. At work. Someone posing as a flower delivery man. And every phone call… every delivery made to my office… it's hard to start trusting people again."

That's something of an understatement, but Casey doesn't want to think about Charlie any more, about how hard it is for her to so much as be touched by somebody without the thought crossing her mind. She trusts Alex, though, implicitly.

Alex stares at her, eyes full of compassion, where Casey had half expected her to shrug it off, be annoyed at the comparison.

"I guess I won't send you flowers, then," Alex says, softly, and there's something in that smile that makes Casey break inside, the thought of Alex Cabot sending her flowers… she doesn't even like flowers, never even liked them _before_ the attack, but if Alex sent them…

She has to look away.

"There's so much we don't know about each other," Alex muses, "you're the only person in the whole of this town who knows who I really am… but even you don't _know_ me."

Casey shrugs, "I know enough. I googled you."

This makes Alex laugh, a full, rich sound, as she throws her head back a little, looking at Casey in wonder, "you… googled… me?"

Feeling her cheeks go pink, Casey hangs her head in embarrassment, "that sounded a lot less creepy in my head," she gazes up at Alex and smiles, "you left pretty big shoes to fill, I wanted to be prepared."

"Oh that was all it was?" Alex teases, smiling brightly at her.

"Hey, you can never over-research."

"Yeah? Well there's some things google doesn't know."

Intrigued, Casey nibbles on her bottom lip, "really? Like what?"

* * *

They spend most of the rest of the afternoon talking, migrating down to the living room eventually, and opening a bottle of wine as the evening draws in. They share leftover take out from Alex's fridge. It's nice. The more Casey finds out about Alex, the more she realises that even though they come from very different backgrounds, Alex is much more like her than she'd always assumed. She shares stories from her childhood, too, talking about her siblings and her parents with a fondness that she thinks might be a little bit lost on only-child Alex, who admits she has never been awfully close to her father. Her mother had died whilst Alex was in Wisconsin, and she hadn't been able to go to the funeral, which seems to be something Alex still feels guilty about.

Casey doesn't bring up Charlie, even when Alex talks at length about the various men and women she's dated. They talk, instead, about colleagues from the DA's office, judges that they've both pissed off, and the detectives they both consider family.

There's something in the way Alex talks about Olivia, the distant misty look she gets, that confirms what Casey's wondered for a long time, though she doesn't push her into talking about it. Alex gets quiet, then, and Casey changes the subject.

Eventually, conversation winds down. Casey yawns, stretching out on the couch, her body clicking from being curled up in the same position for hours. Alex watches her with amusement over the rim of her wine glass.

"Well, nothing happened," she says, draining the last of her drink, and putting the glass down on the coffee table.

It takes Casey a beat to realise what she means, "maybe it was a stupid prank after all. Are you back at the hotel tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Alex nods, lifting her arms above her head and rolling her shoulders, "only a short shift though. We could do dinner? I'll pay - as an apology."

Scoffing, Casey shakes her head, tugging the throw that's covering both of their laps up a little higher, "we're splitting the bill. That sounds nice, though."

They sit there in awkward silence for a moment, Casey not sure if that's her cue to leave, or not. She's reluctant to go. She tries to put it down to still being concerned for Alex's safety, but she knows the truth. She doesn't want to spend the night alone in her hotel, not whilst the option of curling up next to Alex's warm, soft body is still on the cards. She doesn't want to outstay her welcome, though. She feels like she's probably already pushed Alex into sharing more than she maybe wanted to, without including her bed in that.

"I should call a cab," she eventually says, pushing the throw off her lap.

"No!" Alex says, almost immediately, then looks flushed at her outburst, "I mean, there's no point in you going home now. Stay the night. I'll walk you back tomorrow morning on my way to work."

The lack of hesitation in Alex's voice makes something stir in the pit of Casey's stomach, and she finds herself smiling softly, agreeing. Alex pulls the blanket back over her, and leans into her, tilting Casey's head towards her until their lips meet in a gentle kiss.

It's different, somehow. She knows something has changed between them.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** sorry for disappearing on you all for a while there - real life is pretty hectic right now. I hope this chapter will answer a few questions formed last chapter, specifically about Alex's feelings for Liv. That being said, there's quite a heavy amount of past-A/O (mostly one-sided) in this chapter, so if that isn't your bag, you might want to skip the italics/flashback section, and the dialogue directly after it. The story will still make sense without it. This is absolutely not turning into a love triangle of any kind, and this (along with a brief mention in the Casey POV next chapter) will be the only A/O that features in this story.

Thanks for bearing with me! I hope updates will become a little more constant soon.

* * *

Casey actually offers to take the couch. The absurdity of it - how shy she sounds when she suggests it, despite them sleeping together several times over the last few days, despite spending the whole day together in barely any clothes - makes Alex laugh as she shakes her head, insisting she comes up to the bedroom.

She knows that's not the only absurd thing that's happened today. As she brushes her teeth, she lets herself go through the events of the day, frowning at her reflection in the mirror over her basin, wondering how she let this go this far. It was one thing to mess around, to have a few nights of intense, rough sex with someone who, in all honesty, she didn't think she'd ever encounter in that way in any other context. But they'd pushed further than that. The boundaries had slipped, the line between fun and something else blurring, contorting. Today, Alex had felt like she was in a relationship, had had to keep reminding herself that that wasn't what this was, despite having Casey curled into her side; or Casey kissing her lazily, tasting of coffee and Thai takeout; or Casey gazing at her with that soft, sleepy expression that she'd worn most of the evening.

It feels too intimate for a quick vacation fling. Then again, it had always been more complicated than that. Alex's messed up life makes everything more complicated.

Alex puts her toothbrush down, lets her eyes slip closed. She wills herself not to overthink anymore, and, for a moment, it works. Only for a moment, though, and then she jumps, as a head rests on her shoulder, arms looping around her waist, a hand brushing against the bare skin of her stomach, underneath her cami. Casey's touch feels electric.

"Alex," Casey husks into her ear, sending a shiver through Alex, "do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?"

A ripple of laughter leaves Alex's lips and she nods, reaching forward to open the cabinet over the basin, immediately mourning the loss of Casey's touch as she slowly lets go. There's a packet of brand new toothbrushes at the back and she pulls it out, opening it, and plucking a bright green one out, handing it to Casey.

"My favourite color," Casey says, smiling, and Alex has to try very hard to ignore how domestic this whole thing is.

"You want some clean pyjamas?" she asks, instead. Casey's still wearing the same t-shirt she borrowed two nights ago.

"Sure," Casey says, around a mouthful of toothpaste and toothbrush.

Alex busies herself with searching her nightwear drawer for something appropriate. Fortunately, they're similar in height, even if their builds are slightly off. She eventually settles on a pair of floral shorts, and a matching button down short sleeved pyjama shirt. It doesn't look like something Casey would wear in a million years, but it'll do.

"Do you own anything that isn't silk, Cabot?" Casey says, emerging from the bathroom, and Alex is about to rummage for something else, when she realises Casey's just teasing.

"They aren't real silk," Alex says, rolling her eyes, "I hope they fit okay, though."

Casey holds the tiny pair of shorts up and raises her eyebrows, "why do I feel like these probably cost more than the entire contents of my sleepwear drawer combined?"

"Just put them on, Novak, before I throw you out on the street after all."

For some reason, she finds herself turning away whilst Casey changes, which is entirely ridiculous. She pretends it was intentional, though, needlessly fixing the sheets, switching on the lamp at the side of the bed, readjusting her glasses on the nightstand, where they've sat all day. She reaches for the pillow on Casey's side of the bed - no, _the other side of the bed_ , she corrects herself - and plumps it, despite it not really needing it.

"I feel like my ass was not made for these shorts," Casey says, drawing Alex out of her neurotic tidying.

She turns, prepared to tell Casey she's being ridiculous, but she stops in her tracks, letting her eyes wander down Casey's figure, knowing she's probably staring at her like a horny teenage boy. Where the pyjamas hang loose on Alex, they're a little tighter fitting over Casey's curves, the shorts clinging to her thighs, in a way that just makes her look more attractive. Casey twists, trying to crane her neck to look at her backside, but unintentionally giving Alex a better view of it instead. The shorts rise a little high over her toned, muscular buttocks, the lace edging not quite covering her cheeks.

"Okay, I know you just put those on," Alex breathes, moving closer to her, "but I'm going to need to take them off of you."

Casey smirks, immediately moving her hands into Alex's hair, "oh really?"

"Really," Alex says, reaching for her.

* * *

Alex hadn't meant for them to have sex, again. That wasn't why she'd insisted Casey come to bed. But something about Casey is addictive, and she can't stop herself. She tries to reason with herself: it's been a long time since she slept with anyone, least of all a woman. She's making the most of it whilst she can. And on top of that, it's been an incredibly stressful two days; it's understandable that she might need to release some of that tension.

Thinking of it like that makes Alex feel uneasy, though. She doesn't want to consider Casey in that way, like some kind of object. If it was really all about release, she would make do with the vibrator that's buried in her nightstand drawer. It isn't.

Despite telling Casey she isn't a cuddler, she finds herself wrapped around her, an arm slung over her waist, her face in her hair, her body in line with the curve of her spine. Casey's still breathing heavily, her pulse racing, her back pressed against Alex's chest. Alex presses an absent-minded kiss against the back of her head, her thumb stroking Casey's side, admiring the way it expands and relaxes as she catches her breath.

"Can I ask you something?" Casey asks, after a long stretch of silence, "it's pretty personal."

Chuckling into the hollow of Casey's neck, Alex kisses her lightly, "can I object if I don't like the line of questioning?"

Casey cringes, "god, please don't bring legal jargon into the bedroom. I'll feel like Petrovsky is going to barge in any second."

"Once an attorney, always an attorney… sorry, old habits die hard," Alex says, moving her lips to the shell of Casey's ear, "but yeah, go ahead," she whispers.

Remaining silent, Casey tenses. Alex can feel it in the way she shifts against her body. Suddenly, she's not so sure she wants to hear Casey's question after all.

"What happened with you… and Liv?"

Sucking in a sharp breath, Alex pulls back from her, only ever so slightly, but the movement is obviously registered by Casey, who rolls over to look at her. Her brow is creased with concern, her eyes searching Alex's in the dark.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried," she says, quietly.

"No, no, it's… it's okay," Alex sighs, rolling onto her back. She doesn't mind having this conversation, but she certainly doesn't want to delve back into those feelings, staring at her current lover.

She takes a deep breath. Olivia… is complicated.

* * *

 _A difficult case led them to a dark corner in a bar they always found themselves in when they didn't get the verdict they wanted. Fin and Munch had already made their excuses and left, though not before drowning their sorrows in a shared pitcher of beer. Cragen had followed suit not long after. Despite having arraignments in the morning, Alex couldn't bring herself to leave, not yet. She'd drank enough wine that she could feel the alcohol buzzing through her veins, her head slightly fuzzy._

 _Somewhere along the line, she'd moved closer to Olivia. They were sitting so close, their thighs were touching. It had maybe been necessary to begin with; a small booth and a large group of people, conserving space for everybody else seemed the selfless thing to do. But deep down inside, Alex knew her motive was anything but._

 _"I gotta get going soon," Elliot said gruffly, with an over-exaggerated sigh. His eyes were glassy, but his expression remained just as angry as it had been when they left the courtroom, "you ladies gonna be alright? Ya need me to walk you out?"_

 _Olivia's lips curved up into a small smile, "we've got it, El, you go."_

 _The idea of something happening to them - Olivia, with her gun still at her waistband, Alex, the ADA who couldn't be scared by anyone or anything - was laughable, though in retrospect… not so much. Still, they waved Elliot off, and Alex felt like she could take a sigh of relief at being left alone with Olivia. She resented that feeling, hating herself for being so weirdly possessive over the detective, but she was just the right side of drunk to tell herself she didn't care._

 _"It never gets any easier, does it?" Olivia said, draining the rest of her glass._

 _Alex, distracted by watching the movement of Olivia's muscles in her throat as she swallowed, quickly looked down at her own glass, "with good people and… passable wine, it does. Slightly."_

 _The way Olivia smiled, the lightness in her eyes then, was almost unbearable to watch. Alex's body tensed with_ want _. She'd felt that way for a long time, had half-way tricked herself into believing that the feeling was mutual. The way Olivia touched her, sometimes; long, lingering touches at the base of her back, or touching her lightly as they talked. She squeezed her hand on the way out of court that day, and even amongst the rage, the guilt that she hadn't done a good enough job to send that prick to prison, Alex had felt warmth. Even if for only a moment._

 _They finished their drinks, and somehow wound up outside, hailing a cab. Olivia lived in a very different neighbourhood from Alex, but insisted on sharing, not wanting to have to worry about her getting home in one piece. Again, that warmth flooded Alex, as Olivia gently held her arm, guiding her by the elbow._

 _As they got into the cab, and Olivia rattled off both their addresses with a practiced ease, Alex sighed, settling into the space beside her friend, head resting against Olivia's shoulder. The detective chuckled, but didn't say anything, instead wrapping her arm loosely around Alex's shoulders._

 _"I wouldn't be able to do this without you, Liv," Alex whispered, watching as Olivia tilted her head to look at her, "I honestly don't think I would be able to cope with any of it, anything this unit throws at us, if it weren't you."_

 _Olivia smiled softly, her dark eyes shining in the dark, "I don't think that's true. You're one of our greatest assets, Alex. We're lucky to have you."_

 _Drunkenly looking up at her, Alex couldn't help but smile, big and wide, which just made Olivia chuckle again. Her face was so close, and Alex could smell the beer on her breath, feel the warmth radiating off of her, and it was too much. She suddenly knew that if she didn't do it now, she'd never do it. She'd never take the chance. And she had to know, had to be sure that this thing that had stretched out between them was real, and not all in her head. Else, she'd regret it forever._

 _She lifted her head, just ever so slightly, and she saw Olivia's brow crease in confusion, but then her lips were touching Olivia's, soft and gentle, exactly how Alex had always imagined. The moment seemed infinite, though in reality it was only a brief few seconds, before Olivia was moving away._

 _"Alex…" Olivia started, frowning fully now._

 _Alex forced to smile past the bile rising in her throat, blinking back tears, "I'm sorry… I… god, I had too much too drink."_

 _"It's okay," Olivia said._

* * *

"The short version," Alex says, past a lump forming in the back of her throat, "is nothing. Nothing happened."

It's not that she isn't over it. It was a long time ago. They'd tried to make it work between them, but she and Liv had agreed they work better as friends. It had been a mutual decision, after falling into bed together after a bad case, this time sans alcohol, but only a short while after that first kiss. They hadn't even had sex, in the end, Olivia deciding she wasn't into it after clothes started being shed, and in the end, it had come as a relief in many ways. Their friendship recovered. They came out of it mostly unscathed.

And shortly afterward, Alex had been shot and 'killed'.

The reason it hurts, the reason it brings such a fresh wave of pain thinking about it, is the distance. The fact that they'd managed to save their friendship, overcome the weirdness like adults, only for it to be snatched from them some months later.

No matter how platonic her feelings for Liv, they still very much exist.

"Still.. you're in love with her." It's a statement, not a question, and Casey sounds momentarily defeated, and when Alex quickly turn to face her again, she sees sadness in her eyes.

"I was. For a while, I definitely was. I think Olivia's the kind of woman who makes a lot of people fall in love, fast. I practically fell for her the moment I met her."

Casey smiles a little, "I thought she was a bitch the first time I met her."

After laughing, Alex moves her hand to trace along Casey's arm, concentrating on the movement of her fingers, not Casey's face, "Elliot's in love with her. I think a part of him will always belong to her. I'm not… I'm not like that. We had a serious conversation that night, before my trial. Seeing her again, after so long… I thought I might… I thought it might resurface. It didn't. I came to terms with my feelings once and for all, and they aren't romantic. Not anymore."

Watching her in the dark, Casey's lips curve up slightly, and she looks a little more content with that answer, pulling Alex close to her, and kissing her again. Alex relaxes against her, drawing out their kisses into lazy, long, gentle ones that make her heart sing.

 _My feelings for you, however… I'm not so sure,_ Alex thinks.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** sorry for another shorter chapter but I'm updating whilst I can. Thanks so much for continuing to read and comment!

* * *

It's a little after 4 when Casey wakes, glancing at the bedside clock for confirmation. Alex is still fast asleep, rolled away from her, blonde hair curved around her shoulder perfectly, like a scene someone's set up. Her breathing is soft and rhythmic, and for a moment, Casey allows herself to listen to it, hoping it might lull her back into sleep too.

It doesn't. She sighs, shifting her weight slowly out of the bed, a limb at a time, so as not to wake Alex. Casey hasn't been asleep long, an hour at most, though she knows it's her own fault. It's her own brain that's been keeping her awake, mulling over the night before. Thinking about Alex and Olivia, mostly, her imagination betraying her and running wild. She'd always thought something had happened between them, that Olivia had been unnecessarily protective of Alex's 'memory'. From the moment Casey started working with SVU, it had always been 'Alex wouldn't have done that' or 'why can't you be more like Alex?'. Even when no one was saying it, Casey could tell Liv was thinking it.

She'd grown to resent Alex. It had never occurred to her that the woman herself was not to blame, that she might turn out to be somebody who Casey would truly come to like. Maybe even love. The thought hadn't crossed her mind, though that was mostly due to her believing Alex to be dead.

Going back to New York, back to Olivia, and pretending like nothing had happened… that would be challenging. Casey doesn't want to let herself think about it, not just yet, but again, her mind's betraying her, leaving an unshiftable ache in her chest.

Glancing back at Alex, momentarily, Casey sighs. She dips to pick up the pyjama top, the blush and rose colored thing, smooth and shiny, and not at all like anything she would ever wear out of choice. Her pyjamas have always consisted of a sports jersey or t-shirt, worn through and bleached with wash and wear, and a pair of flannel pyjama pants, or yoga pants. Occasionally shorts, in the warm weather, though not the flimsy, delicate type that Alex favours. In fact, her favourite pair had been bought from the men's section of Target, years and years ago. Still, she slips the shirt over her head, buttons still done up from prior to Alex dragging the shirt off of her. She forgoes the shorts (not that she's sure where they landed, anyway).

The stairs creak as she tiptoes down them, headed once again for the kitchen. She'd intended on a glass of water, but instead reaches for the bottle of scotch that Alex keeps in a glass-fronted cabinet along with other spirits, hoping the blonde won't mind. She pours herself three fingers, not bothering with ice (though she knows Alex has some), and sits heavily at the breakfast bar.

It isn't the idea of Alex and Olivia together that's keeping her awake, Casey realises. It's the fact she has to go back home and pretend like none of this ever happened. That she can't even tell Liv, Elliot, the others, that she _saw_ Alex, much less anything else. And sure, she's known that since the beginning, rushed to assure Alex that her secret's safe, but it's only really hitting her now. Especially now that it's gotten way more complicated than she'd intended. Especially now feelings are involved.

It's been a long, long time since she had somebody to tell people about. Maybe that's all it is. Maybe she's tired of being lonely, of being the ADA who doesn't date.

Casey wonders how long it will be before Alex is deemed safe to return. Since the Liam Connors case, much of the cartel had collapsed. Most of the key members are now in prison, or awaiting trial. A few are dead. But cases aren't always straight forward, and Casey and Alex know that better than most. Trials can take months, years to complete. And whilst Casey hasn't checked in on the case in a while, she'd last heard that stragglers were still being brought in in relation to the cartel's crimes. That whilst it had been successfully shut down, there may still be links the police are yet to find.

Feeling stupid, Casey takes a long gulp of her drink. As if Alex being out of witness protection would mean anything. She needs to get this stupid idea of romance out of her head before she does something stupid. She's known that's not what this is since the beginning.

Finishing her drink, she stands to pour herself another, but decides against it. Instead, she rinses the glass, leaving it upside down on the drainer, despite the amount of dirty dishes stacked up neatly on the other side of the sink. Casey runs her fingers through her hair and sighs. The kitchen is eerily quiet, and she suddenly decides she doesn't want to be alone down here any longer, the silence stifling. She flips the light off and, moving quietly, heads back upstairs.

Alex is still fast asleep, in the exact same position she was in when Casey left her. Casey catches sight of her in the triangle of light as she opens the door, before she turns the hallway light out, and she swallows, trying to ignore the way her heart aches. She slides into the bed. Alex mumbles and shifts a little, her fingers moving lightly against Casey's bare thigh as she automatically moves closer toward the blonde. She lays her head just on the very corner of her pillow, adjacent to Alex's, and closes her eyes.

* * *

Alex's alarm wakes Casey up a couple of hours later. She feels like she hasn't slept at all, but nonetheless, climbs out of bed as Alex disappears into the bathroom for a shower. After making them both coffee and toast, Casey returns upstairs to find Alex on the bed, drying her hair with a hairdryer. She's wearing a matching set of lace underwear and Casey fights not to roll her eyes. Of _course_ all of Alex's underwear matches, not like Casey's. The only time she winds up with a matching set is completely out of chance. One of her favourite bras has a coffee stain down one cup, but she hasn't bothered to replace it. At least she hadn't brought that one with her; she'd probably have died of embarrassment if Alex saw it.

Flipping her hair to one side, and expertly running her rounded brush through it, hairdryer in the other hand, Alex turns to smile at her. Casey returns the gesture, carefully resting the tray of coffee and toast on the bed.

"You didn't have to do that," Alex says, putting the hairdryer down, and reaching for a slice of buttered toast.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Cabot," Casey teases, reaching for her coffee cup, "and coffee is essential."

"Agreed."

They finish their breakfast in silence, and then Alex turns the hairdryer back on, and Casey zones out. She snaps out of it as soon as Alex returns to getting dressed, standing up from the bed and looking for her own clothes. Once she's dressed, she runs a brush through her hair, feeling marginally more human.

Alex, typically, is done by the time Casey finishes. It vaguely irritates her that Alex manages to get herself looking flawless in such a short amount of time, but it also doesn't come as a surprise.

"Ready?" Alex asks, smoothing down imaginary stray hairs from her perfectly tied ponytail.

"Are you?" Casey fires back, and it feels vaguely familiar, but she can't figure out why.

As soon as they step out into the street, that fear returns, and Casey immediately scrutinises the area for anything suspicious, wishing not for the first time that she had the same training as the detectives she works with. She doesn't know exactly what she should be looking for. Judging from Alex's expression, she's just as on edge. Her face is almost as pale as the shirt she wears for work.

"Okay?" Casey murmurs, wanting to hold her hand, but feeling stupid about it.

"Yeah, let's just get this over with," Alex says, a tiny smile on her lips.

To Casey's relief, Alex closes the gap between them, and reaches for her hand, squeezing her fingers tight.

* * *

Returning to her hotel room alone, Casey feels her heart sink. At least she can shower, and grab some clean clothes, she thinks, searching for the positives. She slips her keycard into the lock, and pushes her door open, hoping that the hotel staff hadn't objected too much to having to clean up Alex's meal from the floor. Then again, it was surely somebody within the hotel who was responsible for it. It should have been Casey complaining, not the other way around.

She breathes a sigh of relief seeing the room clean and organised again, fresh sheets on the bed and fresh towels stacked on the dresser. She pulls open her suitcase - all turned over from the last time she rummaged through it, because god forbid she actually unpack… - and pulls out clean underwear that has made its way to the top. Deciding she'll find actual clothes after showering, Casey grabs a towel and throws it over her shoulder as she heads into the bathroom.

She stands under the spray of the shower for a while, letting the water run over her, and getting lost in her own thoughts. Her whole body feels so tense and achey. Maybe after showering, she should take a nap, let herself recover a little bit from the stress of the past couple of days.

Casey is just about to reach for the shampoo, when the shower door flies open, a gush of cold air entering the small glass cubicle. Before she even has time to scream, something is being shoved into her face, and within seconds, everything's fuzzy, before going completely dark.


	14. Chapter 14

Despite her insistence that everything's fine and she can handle going to work, Alex spends most of the morning in a vague sense of panic. She's much jumpier than usual, not as focussed on her work, and she hates it, even when her job is menial and boring. Her mind keeps drifting, and that just makes it worse. Even the phone ringing makes her jump.

On top of all her other anxieties - the worry that any second now somebody's going to shoot her in broad daylight - she can't stop thinking about that conversation with Casey the night before. She hadn't meant to be so candid with her about Olivia. It's rare for Alex to open up to anybody, but once that barrier's broken, the whole damn stream threatens to flow out. Fortunately, she's learnt to protect her heart, not that she feels like she's doing a particularly good job at that at the moment. There's something about Casey that makes her vulnerable, and she hates it. It's never been a part of her before, never been a problem for her Ice Queen persona to keep her emotions in check. If anything, she prides herself on it.

Glancing at the clock, Alex sighs, tapping her pen against the concierge desk mindlessly. There's still three hours left of her shift, another hour after that before she should be meeting Casey for dinner. They hadn't settled on a place, only a time, but that suits Alex. She'd prefer to walk along the beach and choose somewhere leisurely than phone in a reservation, even if it sometimes makes her miss home all the more. She's used to being able to book a last minute table, based on reputation alone, but here, she's a nobody, though sometimes that's as much of a blessing as it is a curse.

When it comes to staying alive, it certainly is, anyway.

Still, she thinks, returning her gaze to outside, past the big glass windowed front of the hotel, nothing's happened. The room service seems to be an isolated incident, a mistake maybe. Alex almost feels embarrassed for making such a big deal out of it. Yet it doesn't stop her from feeling on edge, doesn't stop her heart from pounding as she hears footsteps on the spiral staircase that leads down to reception.

"Good morning, Christine," Michael Brannerman, the sleaze ball in a suit from a few days ago, greets her with the same supposedly charming smile as before. Today, he's sporting a Ralph Lauren polo-shirt and shorts.

"Mr Brannerman," Alex greets, feeling her pulse go back to normal, "I hope you enjoyed your penultimate night with us?"

"Very much so, and all the more since seeing your face this morning."

Alex smiles politely, hating that she has to be nice to creeps like this, "that's good to hear."

"I wonder if you might be able to recommend a restaurant?" he asks, leaning against the desk.

"Certainly. We have a 4 star restaurant in the hotel, which takes reservations, or if you're looking for somewhere along the sea front I can recommend Pierre's seafood. The Pink Lady is slightly further out, but the views are spectacular from their roof bar."

 _Well, I won't be taking Casey to any of these,_ Alex thinks, not letting her expression waver.

"Hmmm, alright, I think I'll check out that roof bar," he smiles, flashing perfectly white teeth, "you know, you're more than welcome to join me."

 _Should have seen that coming,_ "an excellent choice, I hope you have a lovely night Mr Brannerman," she says, ignoring his comment, and feeling a sense of satisfaction at the way his smile droops ever so slightly as he peels away from the desk.

"Eurgh," Alex says, aloud, as soon as he's left.

* * *

Casey had mentioned she might pop in on her way out for a run, and Alex can't help but feel disappointed when clocking out time comes around, and she hasn't even caught so much of a glimpse of red hair. She immediately scolds herself for being so clingy and desperate, and so much unlike everything Alex Cabot is supposed to be.

There's enough time for her to head back to her apartment and change before they go to dinner, but Alex is reluctant to do so. In all honesty, she regrets suggesting they dine out, as she'd much rather curl up at home with a bottle of red and yet more take-out, but inviting Casey over might be too forward. She'd intended for dinner to be casual and nice, not a prelude to sex. Somehow, though, the knowledge that men like Brannerman would be out and on the prowl makes the prospect of going anywhere seem somewhat unappetising. Maybe Casey would be willing to ditch formal reservations for a polystyrene meal out on the beach. They could find a nice spot to sit and watch the sun go down. The thought fills her with warmth.

 _Since when were you such a hopeless romantic, Cabot_ , Alex thinks, and the voice in her head sounds an awful lot like Elliot Stabler's.

Alex slips out of her work blouse and vest, leaving herself in a camisole and black tailored pants - maybe not an ideal date look, but she'll make it work. She lets her hair out of its ponytail and checks her make-up in the cracked mirror in her work locker, re-applying lipgloss, and folding her glasses into their case.

For the first time all day, the nerves that flutter around her stomach are not to do with her personal safety. She feels ridiculous. It's just Casey. It isn't even a date, not really. It's dinner.

"Christine?"

She flinches, almost shutting her hand in her locker as she lets go of the door with too much force. It's only one of her colleagues, Frankie, heading towards her, ponytail swinging and chewing gum slapping around in her mouth. She's in her 20s, and Alex's senior supervisor. Her name badge has two stars on it.

"Y'all forgot to collect your check from your pigeon hole," she says, smiling broadly and holding out an envelope.

Alex frowns, taking the envelope from her and sliding it into her purse, "right… thanks Frankie. Have a good evening."

"You too!" the girl chirps, bouncing off into the managers room.

She could have sworn she _had_ collected her check, but maybe with everything with Casey happening, she'd entirely forgotten.

Since deciding to bypass going back to her apartment, Alex has time to kill. She contemplates her options, but eventually settles on just going over to Casey's hotel and waiting; there doesn't seem like much point in going down to the sea-front whilst its still swarming with tourists. She feels mildly ridiculous going from her own hotel, literally next door to Casey's, but fortunately Todd at the front desk has his head buried in a book so won't notice her going to a competitor hotel minutes after clocking off.

She greets the receptionist at the hotel - a young guy who had been there the other night, too - and asks if a call can be put through to Casey's room.

"Certainly, whom should I say is calling?"

Alex almost forgets herself and gives her 'real' name, "Christine," she corrects herself, hoping her cheeks aren't flaming pink with the lie. It still feels like a lie, all these months later.

She sinks into one of the plush seats opposite the reception desk, crossing one leg over the other, and waiting whilst the call goes through. She wonders if it isn't rude to call by early. Maybe Casey is still getting ready and won't appreciate being called in on nearly an hour before they'd scheduled to meet. Alex hates that she's felt so anxious to see her all day. She's always prided herself on her independence.

"I'm sorry, Ms Novak isn't answering the call," the receptionist says, and Alex is grateful to be dragged out of her own thoughts.

"Oh. You wouldn't happen to have seen her leave, would you?"

The receptionist - Alan, his name badge reads - frowns, "well, actually, we require our guests to drop off keys as they exit the building, and Ms Novak's key isn't here,"

"Maybe she's asleep. Would I be able to just go up and knock on her door?" Alex asks, offering her sweetest smile, "she is expecting me," she adds.

Alan nods, "of course, it's just through those doors and up in the elevator. Room 392."

Not needing the directions, Alex thanks him, and heads up to the third floor, ignoring the uneasy feeling that's started to build in her stomach. Maybe Casey isn't feeling well, or she's taken a nap. There's no need to immediately jump to the conclusion that she's cancelling their plans. After all, Alex is still 40 minutes early.

She reaches Casey's floor and quickly finds her room, knocking on the door despite the 'do not disturb' sign hanging on the knob. After her second knock without response, she calls into the room.

"Case, it's me."

Still, no response. Alex starts to feel a hint of panic creeping back into her bones. After all, so far everything bad that has happened has happened within these very walls. She can't help but think back to the message written across her dinner plate, the realisation that whilst she's been fearing for her own life, her own safety, all the while that message could have been aimed at Casey. She'd let her go back to the hotel by herself, hadn't even thought that maybe it wouldn't be safe.

"Casey?" she calls, again, banging her fist against the door.

A door to the right of the room opens and an elderly woman sticks her head round. She's sunburnt, her skin like red leather, except for around her eyes. She smiles at Alex.

"She not been in all day" the woman drawls, eyes bright with interest, and Alex isn't at all surprised that this is the hotel's nosy neighbour, "I heard her come in, and leave not twenty minutes after."

"Right, thank you," Alex says, frowning. Maybe Casey had just forgotten to give her key in downstairs.

Still, they'd arranged to meet here, so she might as well wait down in the reception for her to come back.

She turns to go back downstairs, paying no attention to the woman whose eyes continue to follow her retreating form, only disappearing back into her room once Alex is completely out of sight.


	15. Chapter 15

_Slowly, Casey began to be drawn back to her senses. Her ears rushed with blood, head pounding like her brain was trying to escape from her skull. The sound was fuzzy, a faint ringing. She tried to open her eyes, but they were heavy, swollen, and it took too much effort to try and lift her eyelids. Her mouth was much the same, lips thick with the tang of dried blood. And her body… her body felt like lead, bones aching all over._

 _After a while, her head cleared, sound gradually fading back in until she became aware that someone, nearby, was blaring loud music, the bass pounding through the surface of whatever it was she was lying on. Again, she tried to open her eyes, this time inching them open enough to catch a glimpse of her surroundings, enough to make out the moulding along the bottom skirt of the bedroom wall, the rough texture of the rug under the bed thick against her fingertips as she tried to roll onto her side, ribs screaming in agony at the movement._

 _Casey frowned, trying to clear her head, moving her hands clumsily to her side. She pressed against her flesh, one rib at a time, and swallowed a cry of pain at the tenderness. She recognised that this wasn't a new wound, just an aggravated old one. One she'd tried to keep hidden for as long as possible, but judging from how they were throbbing, had been the immediate target for this latest attack._

Charlie, _Casey thought, attempting to get to her feet, but struggling to even crawl. She could see out of one eye better than the other, could see that the door was ever so slightly open. Propping herself up on one arm, her entire body screeching in pain, she tugged the door open further, enough to make out the figure stretched out on the end corner of the couch. A beer bottle sat on the cracked coffee table, along with a crushed can. The hardwood floor was spattered with fresh blood, but he was ignoring it, tapping his foot along to the loud rock music blasting through the building. Not a care in the world._

He'll kill you one day.

 _Casey dropped her head back to the floor, eyes stinging with fresh tears._

* * *

When Casey opens her eyes, a sense of deja vu floods across her senses. She thinks maybe she's been dreaming, old wounds ripped open, fresh in the back of her mind, though everything's fuzzy. She's having trouble stringing her thoughts into a sequence that makes sense, can't quite place herself. Where was she before she wound up here? Why is her head pounding? That confusion, it's familiar too, but she can't figure out why.

 _Charlie_ , Casey thinks, swallowing thickly, half expecting to taste blood. Her throat is dry, cottony. Her head throbs, but when she tries to move, her body feels weirdly light, detached from her. She can't move though, and it takes a while of struggling for her to realise she's restrained, arms pulled tight behind her back, tied at the wrists. If she weren't so numb, she'd probably be in agony. She tries to scream, but realises that there's something strapped across her mouth. No wonder her throat's dry.

 _Not Charlie,_ she realises, blinking, trying to clear her vision. She's in a bedroom. She hasn't seen Charlie in years. She's older, now. An ADA. She can't remember all the details, where she lives, how she ended up here, what she was doing an hour ago… but things are slowly coming back into focus, her body gradually feeling more like her own as she tries to move her fingers. She watches her toes flex, but can't feel them, as if she's got a really bad case of pins and needles. After a while, she has to let her eyes drift closed again, the pressure in her head too much.

She can make out voices - no, that's not right, _a voice_ , singular - but she can't tell how far away it is. Her eyes blink open again, trying to latch onto something solid, but she can't look at anything for more than a few seconds.

"…make things easy for you. I didn't want to hurt you… If you'd just paid more attention… if she'd left you alone for five minutes, you'd have known, and we'd never have… that stupid bitch, trying to take you…"

It takes too much energy to try and make out words. Eventually, Casey lets her head hang, closes her eyes. She knows she should be frustrated with herself for not fighting harder, but she can't. Everything is so heavy, so fuzzy.

"You're mine…" the voice says, before the darkness becomes too much to resist.

* * *

 _She fought back with everything she had, fingers gripping at the familiar ridges of her softball bat handle, even as the blood was dripping down her face, ears ringing, one eye already almost swollen closed. She'd become a fighter, she wasn't going to let herself be beaten to death. Her grip wasn't strong enough. The bat slipped out of her reach and into his, the end coming down hard against her face. She scrambled around for something else, her chest pressed hard against the edge of her desk, lungs threatening to give out as she struggled to catch her breath. Her fingers found the cool metal edge of a desk lamp, and she raised it with all the strength she had left, realising too late that her arm would never bend at that angle. That she was too weak._

She didn't go down without a fight, _she imagined someone saying, and the voice sounded way too much like Melinda Warner's for her liking._

 _The cord wrapped around her throat, and she choked, fingers scratching at her own skin to try and get free. Her attacker's weight sat squarely on her, squashing any last breaths out of her, but she wouldn't give in. She knew it was too late, everything going blurry, her head light, and she couldn't fight much longer._

 _She felt his fist make contact with her face, registered that it should hurt, surprised when it doesn't._

 _And then she was out._

* * *

The second time her eyes flutter open, Casey has no idea how much time has passed. Everything hurts. She no longer feels that lightness, that disconnection from her own body, and whilst it comes as a relief - she's awake, she's back in control of her own body - she's now acutely aware of every part of her that's been hurt. Her head rings, a point of impact at the back of her skull throbbing violently. Her arms are pulled so tight behind her that she worries something might be dislocated. Blood drips down her bare leg from a large gash in her thigh. At least she can breathe. She's become too accustomed to broken ribs, is relieved to realise that they all seem in tact.

She remembers how she got here now, where she is. She hasn't left the hotel room. She's laid out on her bed, arms tied to the same head post that she'd been holding tightly onto only a couple of nights ago for a whole other reason. She's gagged. At least this asshole had the decency to wrap her in a towel so she isn't completely naked, her hair still dripping wet.

Now, she realises, she's alone. She tries to sort through the scrambled shards of memories in her pounding head, but the face of her attacker doesn't come to her. He must have drugged her, for her to have ended up here with no struggle. It makes sense. The fuzziness surrounding everything, the vivid dreams, memories drudged up from years ago resurfacing out of trauma.

 _Alex_ , she thinks, suddenly, quickly giving the room another scan for the blonde, half expecting to see her beaten senseless in a pile on the floor. She's nowhere in sight. That doesn't mean she's safe, though, and Casey instinctively struggles against her restraints again, wincing when the rope cuts into the flesh of her wrists. The knots are too tight. They don't budge. Her legs are free, but that doesn't make much difference, not unless she can use them to kick her attacker when he returns. Still, she doesn't want to move around too much, for fear of the towel that's tied loosely around her coming dislodged. She needs to come up with an escape plan. Exhausting herself and getting nowhere isn't an option.

She's always been a fighter. She just needs to figure out the best fighting tactic.

 _You never managed to fight back before,_ she thinks, then immediately dismisses it. Negative thoughts aren't going to get her anywhere, either.

Casey becomes aware of the sound of a keycard activating the lock to her room, and tenses, twisting her body to look in the direction of the noise. The door clicks open, and a figure comes in, balancing a tray of room service food which he quickly puts down on top of her dresser. He isn't wearing the hotel staff uniform, but plain black pants, a check shirt, a dark baseball cap pulled down over his face, like he's avoiding being picked up on hotel cameras. As soon as the door's closed behind him, he raises his head, enough for her to see his face.

"Oh, good, you're awake."

* * *

 **A/N:** sorry to keep leaving you with all these delicious cliff hangers but I LOVE hearing your theories. I hope you made sense of what I was doing in this chapter - the italicised/past tense parts are flashbacks. I wanted to be pretty vague to try and imitate Casey drifting in and out of consciousness, struggling to make sense of what's happening now and what's flashback. Sorry this chapter was so short - the next one will be longer.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** thank you so much for your patience - work is super hectic right now but should be calming down so I should be able to post more soon. This chapter differs from others because it darts back and forth across prospectives - I felt this chapter needed that. It's also very short and made up of short sections. I hope you guys get what I was doing with that.

* * *

His face is familiar, but Casey can't quite put her finger on why. Her head is still cloudy, and she's desperately trying to fight through the fog, to put her thoughts back in alignment and figure out who this bastard is.

He sits down in the chair opposite the bed, and lowers his head so that his face is obscured again. The silence hangs heavy in the room, blood pounding through Casey's ears. She tugs against the ropes again, whilst trying to rid herself of her gag, but both are feeble pursuits.

A knock at the door startles both of them. Casey tries to cry out against the gag, but the sound comes out too muffled. No matter how much she tugs on her restraints, the headboard doesn't make a sound, and even flailing her legs about doesn't have any traction.

After a moment, whoever it is gives up and moves away.

* * *

The plush seats in the reception area of the hotel aren't as comfortable as they look. Their surfaces are plasticky and in the summer heat - even in the evening - they're sticky. The longer Alex spends sitting there, the more wound up she gets. She glances at her watch and sees that another ten minutes has trickled by - Casey's still nowhere to be seen, and they should be meeting by now. She's getting irritable, loathes _waiting_ for anything or anyone. And then she feels guilty. Casey's on vacation, and Alex has already taken up enough of that vacation time; she can't get annoyed with her for running a little bit late.

If she were a normal person, she'd have exchanged cell phone numbers with Casey. That seems like a pretty standard 'we're kind of sort of doing this dating thing even if it's only for a week' thing to do. But no. She isn't normal.

"She still hasn't shown up, huh?" Alan, the desk clerk says, smiling sympathetically at her.

"No, I confess I'm beginning to wonder if we didn't agree to meet somewhere else, or if I got the time wrong," Alex says, though she knows she isn't the kind of absent-minded person to get something like that mixed up.

Maybe Casey had, though. What if she's at Alex's apartment, waiting?

Alex frowns, digging through her purse for some gum or a breath mint, something to distract herself with. Her hand settles on the envelope Frankie had handed her earlier, her name printed neatly on the front. Her payslip. She slides her finger under the flap and rips it open. A look through this might be distracting for at least a minute. She glances again at her watch, though only a minute has passed since she last looked, and pulls out the sheet of folded paper. It isn't the usual cheap paper with the perforated edges that she's used to, but weightier, thicker.

 _Harbor House splashing the cash on their employees? Surely not,_ she thinks, absently.

As she unfolds the paper, the color drains from her face, a shiver running straight through her. It's a photograph.

Moving more calmly than she feels, Alex folds the paper with shaking hands back into her bag and stands. Alan is reading a book behind the desk, eyes darting quickly across the pages. As she nears him, she recognises it as a comic book.

"Alan, I know this isn't protocol, but I'm going to need you to let me take the spare key for Miss Novak's room."

He looks up, "m'am, I'm sorry, it's against our policy. I can't just let you—"

"Miss Novak is in danger. I am an ADA with the Manhattan District Attorney's office. I know I have no jurisdiction here, but if I have to wait for the police, there's a good chance it'll be too late."

Alan's eyes widen as he scrambles to sit up straight, running a hand through his greasy dark hair, "of course. S-sorry, I'll go get that keycard. I just… don't tell my manager, okay?"

Alex clenches and unclenches her hands behind the desk, trying not to let how terrified she is show. The image of the photograph that's in her purse is seared onto her brain.

 **I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE HER ALONE,** it read in black sharpie marker, straight across a grainy image of them, black and white, Alex with her lips pressed against the pale skin of Casey's neck, hands tangled in her hair, one hand hidden underneath the hem of her dress.

Someone had been watching them.

* * *

"She just won't let it go," the man mutters under his breath, pounding his fist onto the surface of the desk beside him.

Casey swallows thickly, trying to ignore the way her heart is threatening to break free from her chest. She stares across the room, trying to study her kidnapper's face. He pushes his baseball cap off, running fingers through sweaty dark hair, then placing it back onto his head. The constant mumbling under his breath, the erratic, jolty movements, the way he couldn't keep still… it was all horribly familiar. Charlie had been like this on his worst days. But this man wasn't Charlie.

 _Who is he?_

* * *

The keycard feels heavy in her fingers as she stands in the elevator to Casey's floor for the second time that evening. She doesn't know what she expects to find, realises that there's a good chance she's going to be contacting the police very soon, that telling Alan the desk clerk her real identity might have been a massive mistake, but she'll have to tell other people now. She can't think straight. She doesn't even have any information the police might find useful, beyond knowing where Casey was the past few days. She's going to look ridiculous, handing over this photograph, and admitting that she doesn't even have the other woman's cellphone number.

 _Well, there's no chance I'm not going to be moved again after this,_ she thinks, then regrets being so selfish.

She jogs to Casey's room, her legs feeling like jelly, and it takes three attempts to slot her keycard into the machine. The Do Not Disturb sign is still hanging there, somewhat ominously with the new information. Finally, the green light flashes, and the door clicks open.

The first thing Alex's eyes lock on to is the bed. The sheets are crumpled, the headboard broken. Large spots of blood stand stark against the bright white of them.

Alex's heart drops into her stomach.

She moves through the room, panic soaring through her veins though she tries to remain composed. She isn't a detective, but she's worked alongside them long enough to know the routine. She doesn't touch anything, but looks around the room. The main room is mostly intact, aside from the mess of the bed. She goes through to the bathroom. A trail of blood leads from the shower through to the bedroom. The shower screen hangs at an odd angle like it's been forced. There are no towels.

A phone starts to ring, and Alex tracks the sound back into the bedroom. It isn't the hotel room phone. Finally, she finds Casey's cellphone sitting on top of a pile of clothes on a chair on the other side of the room.

Seeing that name on the caller ID makes Alex's throat go dry.

Liv Benson.

* * *

"We have to go, have to get out of here, have to go," the man rambles, suddenly standing up and directing his attention back on her, where so many of his comments have been seemingly to himself.

He moves over to the bed, leans across her so that she can't move her legs, and for an awful moment, Casey thinks he's going to violate her further. Instead, he reaches for her face, running a finger tenderly over her jawline. It's something Alex has done in the past few days, but rather than comfort Casey, it makes her go stiff with terror. She pulls on her ropes again, trying to angle her face away from him as his fingers move into her hair, a clumsy attempt at a tender touch.

"Casey," he breathes into her face, "god, Casey why do you have to do this to me."

She shudders, moving out of his grip.

* * *

Alex stares at the phone for what feels like forever, trying to make a decision. For the first time in a long time, she doesn't know what to do.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** I'm so so sorry I'm updating so sporadically, and that this is such a short chapter. Life is pretty hectic right now, but I have not forgotten about this story. Thanks for your patience.

* * *

Casey wakes slowly, light-headedly. She smiles into her pillow, thinking only of Alex, their bodies tangled together, Alex's lips brushing over her skin, the smell of her perfume, the softness of her hair… she doesn't want to admit it to herself, not just yet, but she thinks she might be falling in love. And that should be scary because she doesn't _do_ love, not since Charlie… but it feels oddly calming, letting somebody else in for the first time in years. Her eyes are still closed as she reaches across the bed for her, disappointed when her fingers meet only the pillow beside her. Maybe Alex is cooking them breakfast, she thinks, smiling again at the thought of it.

"You didn't tie her hands?!"

Everything comes flooding back to her in a moment that feels like being hit by a bus. Casey's eyes snap open, her throat filling with the taste of bile and blood, and she's met by the face of an older woman who she doesn't know. Her fighting instincts kick back in immediately, but it's too late. Her body feels like lead, and this woman handles it with ease, grabbing her already tender arms, and yanking them over her head. Casey tries to lash out, to scratch her or hit her, but she's too weak. Even her voice is non-existent as she tries to scream, despite not being gagged. Eventually, she's forced to give in, sagging against the bed like a deflated balloon, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

She faintly remembers the crack of wood, a struggle, her head hitting something hard and solid, more blood. They must have moved her. This isn't the same room, though the decor is much the same; the same white sheets, the same stock photography along the walls, though there's no window, and a small twin bed sits against the far wall, additional to the double she's slumped in.

"Her poor beautiful face. Why did I have to do that? Stupid stupid stupid."

"She gave you no choice, my darling. Look what she did to you."

The man in the baseball cap lifts his head, and there's a stream of dried blood on the lower half of his face, his nose red and swollen. _Good_ , Casey thinks. Though she doesn't remember how it occurred, it's good to know she fought back when she could.

She glances down at her own body, trying to move her feet. They aren't tied, but she can't move, and it takes effort to try. She's drugged - she knows that, because she'd never go down with a fight otherwise, and her thoughts are so fuzzy, her head so cloudy… they must have drugged her to move her. She's also wearing clothes now, a pale pink sundress that she's never seen before. A whole new wave of nausea hits her at the thought of these people touching her naked body, putting her into clothes without her permission, presumably whilst she was passed out cold.

He deserves much more than a broken nose.

"We're saving you, you know," the man says, quietly, his eyes focussed solely on Casey's, his expression somber, "you had gone down a path of sin, and we're saving you. It was always supposed to be like this. Ever since we were small. You and I."

* * *

Alex's finger hovers over the 'accept call' button, her pulse echoing in her ears as she tries to make a decision.

The decision is made for her. The call ends before she has a chance to accept it. Letting out a long breath, she closes her eyes, presses her fingers to her temple. She doesn't know what to do. Any rational thought seems to have gone out of the window, overtaken with worry and guilt and panic.

Eventually, relief seeps in around the edges. She's glad she didn't answer the phone. Communicating all of this to Liv… it would be too hard. Too distracting from the situation. Anyway, how could Olivia help, all the way over in New York? Of course, she'd try, but that would probably just make everything worse. _Start thinking with your head, not your heart, Cabot._

"I should call the police," she says, aloud, staring again at the bloody sheets on the bed, the headboard snapped into a ragged edge. There are no clues for her to follow, no trail of breadcrumbs that might lead her to Casey. Perhaps if she were a detective, but she isn't. All those years working alongside them and Alex has learnt nothing.

 _This isn't the time for a pity party,_ she scolds herself. That's the whole problem here - she's thinking too much of herself, of her own safety, of her own fear of being moved again. It isn't her life at stake, it's Casey's, and she needs to snap out of it.

She picks up Casey's cellphone, dialling 911 without even a moment more of thought. Her breath hitches as she waits for the call to be picked up, a mental 'oh shit this is it', and then she's speaking into the phone, asking for the police.

* * *

Her captor's rambling doesn't make any sense, but Casey still wastes energy on trying to decipher meaning from it. There's something about this man, about the pair of them, the woman with her stringy grey hair, and bright, sharp eyes, that Casey thinks should be familiar, but she can't place them at all. They're mother and son, she thinks; even besides the way the woman fusses over him, their facial features are similar enough. He's a mommy's boy. He's at the very least Casey's age, yet constantly seeking his mother's approval. It reeks of classic Norma Bates syndrome. If nothing else, this makes the whole thing creepier. She's the true mastermind behind this operation, pulling on his strings, making him perform her dark acts.

Casey closes her eyes, her head starting to swim from thinking too hard. She continues her routine of trying to lift her legs, one at a time, but it's no good; she can tell they're still unmoving. She has slight movement in her head, her fingers, but she's tied down so tight that that's not going to make any difference.

The man wanders around, sulking and muttering, until eventually his mother stops him. She holds him by the shoulders, taking off his baseball cap and stepping up onto tiptoes to kiss his forehead. He looks like a young boy, embarrassed by his mother's affection in the school yard, squirming away from her.

"Why don't you go and lie down for a while, dear? You've had a lot of excitement for one day."

He shakes his head, pushing his cap back onto his head and rubbing at his neck, "no, no, I can't leave Casey, I want to be with Casey."

"She isn't going anywhere," she says, pressing her hand to his forehead, "I really think you ought to—"

"No, Ma! Leave it! I'm a man," he lowers his voice, "you're embarrassing me in front of her."

"Okay, okay," she retreats, sinking down onto the smaller bed against the wall, her expression pinched with hurt.

Casey feels the bed dip with the weight of an extra person, and goes tense. She can't move her head far enough to look at him, but feels his hand against her face, his fingers fumbling to push her hair behind her ears, and she winces at it.

"I'm so sorry for hurting you," he says, and then he's pressing his head into the space between her neck and her shoulder, draping a heavy arm over her, giving her the kind of hug a child gives to a doll; stiff and unreciprocated.

She wants to be sick.

* * *

As soon as she's off the phone, Alex heads back down to the front desk. She can't bear to be in that room any longer. Alan is sitting at the desk, looking through his comic book once again. Something about that simple act makes Alex irrationally angry, but she bites her tongue to stop herself from vocalising it. To his credit, Alan does look up when Alex approaches, and he even looks concerned.

"The police will be here shortly," she says, "you may want to fetch your manager. They don't want anybody leaving the building until they arrive."

"Yes m'am," Alan says, hurriedly stuffing his comic book down the side of the computer, into a pile of papers, and reaching for the desk phone.

Alex sinks into the same plastic chair she only recently vacated, and drops her head into her hands. _Please be safe, Case,_ she thinks, surprising herself by how sick she feels at the thought of something happening to her.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** I am SO sorry that this has taken so long to update - I've been incredibly busy (and stressed) so I've not really had time to work on it. This chapter's fairly short but the next one is going to have quite a lot of action in it, so I thought this was a good cut off point. Thank you for being patient I'm really sorry again that this has taken so long.

* * *

The man who owned the ice cream parlour - the teal brick building along the sea-front, with the neat rows of metal trays, different colours and flavours, each with a little hand-written sign in front - had a basketball hoop attached to the back. Casey remembers lazy summer nights shooting hoops with him whilst the kids with summer jobs served soft scoop out front. She remembers her name scratched into the brick wall above the patio, remembers sitting cross-legged on the grass, making friendship bracelets, picking daisies.

Each summer would come along, and she'd find herself at that shop, playing with the other kids, some who vacationed there every year, some who didn't. Sometimes, Howie's sister would be there, with her boys. The older one would tease her; the younger (though still older than she) would sometimes play ball, but he wasn't good at it, never scored anything no matter how many times his uncle (and, sometimes, Casey) gave him pointers. They'd play for hours, until eventually one of Casey's brothers would be sent by her mom to collect her for dinner.

She'd always had such fond memories of this place. That was what had brought her here out of all the places in the world, after all. Alex was beginning to provide more good memories - confusing and complicated, maybe, but good all the same.

And then… this.

When Charlie had become violent, for a long time Casey had felt like she was to blame. If she had just kept him happy, it wouldn't have happened. If she didn't do things to provoke him, he wouldn't have hit her. It had taken a lot of work - even as a young lawyer - to get out of that mindset, to realise there was nothing she could have done differently, that the problem was in his head, not hers.

Now, however, she's beginning to feel like this follows her. Even here, even somewhere she's always felt safe and at ease.

The man stays in the bed, uncomfortably curled around her. She can feel the stiffness of an erection pressing against her thigh, making her feel more and more like she's going to throw up. He continues to clumsily play with her hair, muttering under his breath, and Casey tries desperately to pretend she's somewhere else. She can't see a way out of this, is too weak to fight back anymore. Her head's so cloudy she can't even try to put the pieces together to form an escape route, to work out who these people are and what they want with her.

She squeezes her eyes closed, and hopes, desperately, that Alex is looking for her.

* * *

Every possible scenario runs through Alex's head as she waits for the police to arrive; all the ways she should have predicted this, all the things she should have done to protect Casey. In truth, she knows this is not her fault, but she can't help but feel guilty. Besides, guilt is an emotion she can deal with, one that's more easily remedied than fear. Fear has a way of spiralling out of control. And she has plenty of things to be fearful of.

Alex can't bear the plastic waiting room chairs any longer, so she paces, long strides up and down the foyer, trying to drown out the sounds of hotel employees panicking, concentrating only on her own erratic pulse, her own sweating palms. Talking to the police… it's going to ruin everything. She's going to have to explain the whole thing, her past, witness protection… everything. She'll be removed from here and relocated. What will the newspapers read? ' _Dead' District Attorney Caught in Lesbian Scandal?_

 _This isn't about you, Alex_ , she reminds herself, firmly. She can hear the distant sound of sirens, has to remind herself that they're here to _help_. God, she wishes she'd had the balls to accept Olivia's call. Olivia, she can trust.

"M'am, it would be best if you spoke with the police yourself."

Alex looks up sharply. A bearded man in a suit is standing in front of her, looking frazzled and overwhelmed. He must be the owner of the hotel, she thinks, dumbly.

"Of course," she says, folding her arms across her waist to stop herself from fidgeting. She follows him back to the front doors, just in time for a car to pull up, flashing lights announcing the police's arrival.

* * *

The sound of nearby sirens jerks the man beside her out of his ramblings. The older woman is now sat in a chair across the room, doing needlepoint as if nothing has happened.

"Momma?!"

She only raises her head then, at his frightened voice, putting the hoop of sewing down on the side and looking over at them, wearily as if he were about to announce his hunger, or need for the toilet. Something childish.

"My heart, they aren't coming for us. I told you. We're entirely safe here. I promise."

"I wanna take her home, ma."

"I know, but we've got to wait for the right time. Be patient."

He lifts an arm across Casey's face, tugging her head towards his chest, his grip supposed to be gentle, but not hitting the mark by a long way. She twists her face as much as she can away from him, the movement sending jolts of pain through her neck, but she can't bear to be smothered in him. She can feel his breath on her skin, hot and rancid. He smells of sweat and oil. Something rough rubs against her face from around his arm, too thin to be a watch strap. A bracelet, maybe. Casey tries to concentrate on figuring out what it is, hoping that will distract her from his sloppy embrace, the haziness in her head. It isn't a chain, isn't metal. It feels like… rope.

"I won't let you leave me, not this summer," the man whispers, near to her ear. His breath feels wet.

She knows him. She has to know him. He knows her, knows her name, talks about her like he's known her for years.

It dawns on her, sudden and awful. The string around his wrist. Faded, frayed. It's the remnants of a friendship bracelet, decades old.

"Jimmy," she whispers, her voice hoarse, raw.

He presses his lips against the side of her head, clumsy, unpracticed.

"It's okay, Casey, I'm here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."


	19. Chapter 19

As soon as the pieces fall into place, Casey can't believe she hadn't figured it out before. Now, when she looks at this man, all she sees is the lanky little kid she'd spent her summers hanging out with, the kid she'd gone swimming with and eaten ice cream with and played basketball with. She'd spent summer after summer with him, playing with his family, at the ice cream parlour, in the sea. She'd made that friendship bracelet when she was eight or nine, right before going home at the end of vacation. She remembers looping it around a grubby pale wrist, tying it in a knot. It was an age ago, but she still remembers.

Jimmy had been a sweet kid. Terrible at sports, but nice, funny. He'd doted on Casey, sure, but they were just kids. It was nothing. They only saw each other for a month a year… occasionally sending each other letters once she'd gone home, sticky, in scrawled handwriting, littered with stickers. But he wasn't the only kid she had as a pen pal, wasn't the only kid she'd braided string into a bracelet for.

Eventually, they'd stopped going to the beach town for summer. Casey grew up, went off to summer camp, and her older brothers got too old for family vacations, and her father was busy working someplace else. Jimmy had slipped from her mind entirely, a face in an album of fuzzy vacation photos, not looked at for years, nothing more.

And yet, here he is, decades later, remembering her as if they've only spent a short time apart.

She can't help but wonder how long this crazy plan of his had been brewing, how long he and his mother had been obsessed with her. Surely they could never have predicted that she'd be back here all these years later? Even she hadn't expected to come back. It had been a whim. Had they seen her out on the beach, followed her to her hotel room, seen her and Alex together? Had it all started from there, or had it been stirring for a long time? Casey racks her brains for signs, anything from when she was a kid, any sign that she could have seen this coming. But she was a kid and it was so long ago… she doesn't remember.

The sirens are closer now, and Casey can't help but hope that they're coming for her, to look for her. Maybe Alex called them when she didn't show up, or maybe someone had heard her scream. She has to believe that somebody's looking for her, it's the only thing stopping her from panicking. Jimmy's returned to mumbling under his breath, curled around her like a child with a teddy bear. Casey wishes she could shrink away.

"I won't let her take you away," Jimmy whispers, his breath hot against her ear, "I won't let that bitch take you."

Casey tenses, her heart aching.

"Alex," she whispers, "her name's Alex."

Jimmy's body stiffens. He grabs her face, turns her to look at him, his grip on her chin so tight it hurts. Casey's sure she's bruising under his finger tips.

"You forget about that bitch you forget about her."

"No," Casey grinds out. _She's coming to get me, I know she is._

His hand shifts to her throat, his fingernails digging into the tender skin of her neck, burning. In a second, he's gone from an over-grown child to a monster. It happens so fast that Casey can't do anything to stop it. She's fighting for air, unable to push him off of her, her body feels so weak, her fingers clawing at his hands but never making purchase.

There's no use fighting anymore.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight: you were meant to be going for dinner, but she didn't show up. You didn't trade cellphone numbers, didn't know her room number until you bullied it outta the front desk, then you called the police cos she wasn't answerin'?"

Alex clenches her jaw. As much as she'd known this was going to sound ridiculous, she hadn't expected to have a dull-eyed, unbothered response from a boorish police officer, especially given the evidence. Then again,he hadn't even shown any indication of going upstairs to see the room, the bloody sheets and the broken headboard. He hadn't even looked at the photograph. Though maybe that's for the best; he strikes her as the kind of man who would either be homophobic, or turned on by that.

"Your friend probably just made other plans," he says, before Alex can respond.

"As I said, _Officer Swanson_ , I received a threatening letter, and when we went into her room—"

"When you _broke into_ her room, after coercing the key from the front desk," he interrupts, chewing uninterestedly on a hangnail.

"—I found clear signs of a struggle, and more than that, damage to the room, and a trail of blood."

The middle aged officer raises his eyes to her, again, looking irritated, "your friend's probably into rough sex. That isn't a crime Ms Nebraska."

" _Norbraten_ ," Alex corrects, regretting not just telling this idiot that she's an attorney. Not that it would probably make much difference. "I am telling you that a woman is in danger, and you're not even willing to go up to her hotel room and check?"

His jaw works, his eyes narrowing slightly, then he sighs, "fine. Let's go on up there. I'll show you there's nothing to worry about."

* * *

"JAMES! Let— James— let go of her— come on, let go of her."

Casey chokes, gasping for air as the hands are pried from her throat. She'd tried screaming, though no sound came out, but now she concentrates on trying to catch her breath, wheezing, her head light, her heart racing, eyes bulging. She knows she was only seconds away from passing out, that if Jimmy's mom hadn't stepped in, she'd be dead, air supply completely cut off. The blackness had started creeping in. She sinks back into the pillows, her breathing shaky, her throat burning, vision fuzzy.

"Shit shit shit," Jimmy is mumbling under his breath, turned away from her, his mom holding him by the shoulder, wiping at his face, brushing his hair back.

"She has to be led away from sin, we're leading her away. It's okay, it's alright my darling, it's okay."

 _No,_ Casey thinks, retching, _nothing is okay about this. Nothing_.

* * *

Officer Swanson clears his throat excessively, but is otherwise silent in the elevator, staring at the floor numbers changing, one hand clenching at his side. Alex glances at him, rolling her eyes. More and more as time passes, she realises she should have just picked up Liv's call. Then again, it's not like Liv would be able to get here; she probably would have ended up stuck here in an elevator with a man reeking of cheap cologne either way. If nothing else, she is reminded once again just how fortunate she'd been to work with such a dedicated team of detectives, people who _always_ put the victim first, who treat every potential crime like it's a real one, no matter what. Not everyone's so lucky.

How can an officer of the law overlook something as blatant as a _blood trail?_

The elevator reaches the right floor, and Officer Swanson ambles out, hands deep in the pockets of his slacks. Alex takes the lead, walking straight for the door, but waiting, Swanson bearing the key-card. He opens the door leisurely, steps into the room, doesn't bother holding it open for Alex. She follows nonetheless.

The bed with the blood makes her stomach twist just as it did before. She waits whilst Swanson moves through to the bathroom, sighing heavily as he views the damage to the shower screen, the trail of blood to the bed. Alex had convinced herself it wasn't that bad, but now, seeing it again, she feels sick.

It's with great reluctance that he reaches for his radio.

"Hey, this is Swanson… looks like you're gonna wanna send your boys after all."

* * *

Jimmy sits down on the very edge of the bed, far enough away from Casey that he's not touching her, and weeps; ugly, wet, snotty tears like a little kid. His mom is knelt in front of him, her hands on his knees, looking up into his face, his head ducked. With their heads bowed together like that, they look like they're praying.

Casey pants, still struggling to catch her breath. But beyond that, she's tense. Time has passed since the sirens. Jimmy's barely even acknowledging her existence, wrapped up in his mom and his guilt. They speak in hushed voices, which Casey drowns out. Her ears are pricked to movements outside of the room.

She's too weak to over-power them. If she wasn't too weak before - drugged, tied, beaten - she's definitely too weak now, even with the advantage of them being distracted. Her body feels so heavy, like she's being sucked into quicksand, viscous, muggy. Her throat is throbbing, her larynx so sore that breathing is an effort, let alone screaming for help. All she can do is listen, and wait, and hope.

* * *

"What next?" Alex breathes, folding her arms across her chest. She'd felt momentarily relieved to be taken seriously, but that doesn't change the fact that Casey's in imminent danger. That doesn't change the fact that she's standing in a room sticky with Casey's blood.

"Next, you get outta here. Go on downstairs," Swanson says, gruffly. He's rocking on the balls of his feet, canvassing the room still, almost as if he's forgotten she's there.

"Are you going to—"

He stares her down, "Ms, I won't ask you again. Thank you for your help, but we'll be handlin' it from here. This is a police matter now, and you're contaminating a crime scene."

Alex's eyebrows shoot into practically into her hairline, and she knows she's going to go full on ADA Cabot on this man, that any chance of not revealing herself is going to go out of the window if he keeps up like this, treating her like a dumb blonde broad, like someone who doesn't know what they're doing.

The least he could do is have the compassion to treat her like a friend or family of the victim, not a piece of the furniture.

"I want to be kept updated," she says, stubbornly.

Swanson lets out a peel of bitter laughter, "And I want to be retired and living out in the Caribbean, Ms. Nebula, but we can't always get what we want. Now clear outta here before I have to get one o' my men to arrest you."

Any argument Alex might have had dies on her lips as a sound from somewhere in the hallway grasps both of their attention. It's a loud bang that echoes through the paper-thin walls.

A gunshot.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** I'm so sorry this chapter is so short... as we get into the last few chapters I'm trying to make them as suspenseful as possible and that unfortunately means sometimes cutting off in awkward places/leaving chapters much shorter than usual. I hope you'll understand. The next chapter should be a lot longer.

* * *

 _Her brain took a while to put the pieces together; the sharp pain in her shoulder, the sticky feeling of blood, the sidewalk under her back instead of her feet, the loud noise… it was like it was all happening in fragments, a puzzle that she couldn't figure out. The realisation came later._ You've been shot. _And then all of a sudden that was all she could think about. No clear thoughts just,_ I've been shot, I'm going to die, I've been shot _. Olivia hovering over her, covering the oozing bullet wound desperately with both hands, begging her to stay with them, Elliot calling for an ambulance… it all faded into nothingness._ I'm going to die. I'm going to die.

 _Then, nothing._

 _Alex woke up in a hospital room, no windows, an unfamiliar man in a black suit sitting by the side of her bed. Her body was a weird combination of numb and light, a burning sensation in her right shoulder. Her head couldn't make sense of her surroundings, couldn't recollect anything that had happened prior to this moment. Machines beeped. Footsteps went by outside the door._

 _"…touch and go for a while but the surgery went well."_

 _She only realised the man was speaking once he was finished, and couldn't get the words to make sense. She felt so woozy, like even staying awake was an effort. Feeling her eyes slip closed again, she allowed herself to drift back off to sleep._

* * *

It's the first time she's heard a gunshot since that night two years ago, and it takes her straight back there.

Panicking, Alex freezes, pressing her body subconsciously against the wall. For a moment, she forgets where she is entirely, the blood pounding in her ears, her whole body tense and shaky, her breaths coming out in short, sharp spurts. Her pulse is racing. Tears spot her vision. Even the scar on her shoulder is burning, as if she's being shot again.

 _I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die._

She squeezes her eyes closed, but in the dark all she can see is their faces, Liv and Elliot, frantically trying to stop the bleeding. She tries to take a deep breath, but she can't, and that just makes her panic more.

"Stay here."

A hand on her left shoulder forces her out of it. Alex's eyes open in time to see the retreating form of Officer Swanson, gun pulled from his holster, edging slowly down the corridor. Her pulse starts to even out. She's sweating, her hands gripping the wall behind her so tight that she might have paint flakes under her nails.

 _Breathe_.

Then it all catches up with her. Officer Swanson. The note. The gunshot. Casey. The blood in her hotel room. _The gunshot_.

For once doing what she's told, Alex hangs back, keeping her back pressed against the wall, but craning her neck to watch Swanson as he moves down the hall. She wonders how likely it is that he's pursued an armed suspect before. They're not in New York where this is a common every day occurrence. Does he know what he's doing? She remembers him calling for back-up, but where are they?

What if they're too late? What if Casey's lying somewhere, bleeding to death, and she's been there, right under their noses all along? Alex could have done more, _should have_ done more.

Swanson knocks on the door of the next room, calling out "police, open up." There's a scratch of metal against metal, a man, twentyish, with red hair, appearing in the doorway. He puts his hands up when he sees the gun, readily leaving the room when told to. Swanson does a quick sweep of the room, then moves on. Although he's moving with more urgency, he's still slow, and Alex prays that other officers have arrived to search the rest of the hotel, or else by the time they find Casey, it'll probably be too late.

 _Just hold on,_ she pleads, silently, _wait for me._

The second gunshot rings out somehow louder than the first, and Alex feels her legs buckle beneath her. She sinks against the wall, forces her eyes closed again. She feels like she might vomit. _Get a fucking grip, Cabot._ She takes a deep breath, in, out. In, out. When she opens her eyes, Swanson is suddenly in front of her, pressing a keycard into her trembling fingers, telling her to go inside the hotel room, to lock the door.

Alex drags herself to her feet and staggers towards the door, wrestling with the key card. She can hear the blood rushing in her head, the echo of her pounding heart. Finally, she gets the door unlocked, and, on legs that feel like lead, goes inside, closing the door behind her. She fumbles for the lock, eventually turning it, and leaning heavily against the door. Tears are rolling off her cheeks and she doesn't remember when she started crying. She's not even sure _why_ she's crying.

* * *

It happens so fast. The gunshot rings in Casey's ears. There's so much more blood than she'd expected. Jimmy is screaming. The room is spinning, and she can taste blood, feel her hands shaking uncontrollably. It's suddenly so hot.

God, there's _so much blood_.

She doesn't even know where the gun came from.

Her vision's blurry with tears. They burn at her eyes as she tries to focus.

She silently begs for somebody to find her. Anybody.

* * *

Time seems to pass by so slowly, Alex's racing pulse punctuating every second. She has no idea what's happening. She hasn't heard footsteps or voices indicating more police have arrived, but some passage of time has passed, and there haven't been more gunshots either.

She sits with her back flat against the door, facing out into the room. The bedsheets with their bloodstains, the broken headboard, the trail of blood leading into the bathroom. It's all there, staring at her, a reminder of how helpless she is. How she's done absolutely nothing towards finding Casey.

If Casey dies… that's on her.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:** thank you for being patient. The good news is, I've basically written the last chapter/epilogue, and I think there will only be one or two chapters between then and now, so we're on the homeward stretch! I'm so grateful for all your support on this and I apologise again for how sporadic my updates have been. I hope the last few chapters are as satisfying as they can be.

* * *

Everything that happens from then on out is a blur.

"You gotta take her to your daddy's secret place,"

"I don't wanna leave you."

"You gotta, son. Do what I tell you."

Blood. A burning pain running through her shoulder. Struggling to keep her eyes open.

"She's hurt, Momma. I didn't mean to hurt her but she…"

"It's alright James. Everything's gonna be alright, you just take her the way you remember. He'll know what to do."

"What about you? I don't wanna leave you, Momma."

"It'll be okay. I'll be okay."

Casey squeezes her eyes shut against the pain, pressing the palm of her hand against the surge of blood with all the energy she has left, which isn't much. She's too weak. If they don't find her soon…

Jimmy's grip is sloppy, his palms sweaty as he reaches for her, groaning with exertion as he struggles to lift her. How he's going to carry her anywhere, she doesn't know. Her head lolls against him, her bad shoulder pressed against his scrawny chest, her hand still covering the bullet wound.

* * *

It's quiet. Too quiet. All Alex can hear is her own pulse, throbbing in her ears. No footsteps, no voices. Where the hell is Swanson? Where's his back up? Unable to bear looking at the wrecked hotel room for a minute longer, Alex takes a deep breath and makes a decision. If Swanson and his men won't find Casey… she will.

The corridor is eerily silent, and Alex closes the door as quietly as she can manage with trembling hands. She's aware that she hasn't really thought this through, that the last time she was brave, it almost got her killed, but she can't stand around and do nothing. She owes Casey that much. She tries to go over all the pertinent information, every scrap of what she knows, to attack this like she would a case. She needs to channel her inner detective. (There it is again: What would Liv do?) The photograph burns a hole in her pocket. They'd known where she works. Her dinner at the hotel… they'd known she was there.

They'd had access to the kitchen. They had to have some kind of connection to the hotel.

Alex goes quickly towards the stairs, deciding to avoid the elevator. Any attempts at being quiet are thrown out as she runs down, taking some steps two at a time. She doesn't stop to listen for footsteps behind her, doesn't stop at all until she reaches the ground floor.

She'd expected more commotion in the reception area. What she finds is the manager, and the kid from the front desk, sitting on the couches, clearly waiting to hear more from the police. They're talking quietly, but stop to look up at the noise of her coming through the door. Catching her breath, Alex approaches them, aware that she probably looks like a maniac. She isn't even sure what she's going to ask until it's already spilling out of her.

"Do any of your kitchen staff have rooms at the hotel?"

The manager, looking exhausted and frazzled, frowns, slicking a hand through his short hair, "my head chef, his.. his family have lived here for years. Up on the third floor."

"Is he working tonight?" Alex asks, already trying to process this new information.

"Y-yes… I believe so. It'll be either him or his wife."

"Can you show me where the kitchen is?"

She's expecting him to question why, or to say he'd rather wait for the police, but he doesn't. He murmurs to Alan to give him a call if the police need him, and hoists himself up from the chair, the plastic making a squeaking noise as it unsticks from his pants. He gestures for her to follow him, and, taking long strides, leads her through a door just beyond the front desk, and down a corridor where signs point toward a bar. Alex is surprised by how similar the layout is to the hotel next door; even the linoleum looks like it might be the exact same style and brand. The modelling at Harbor House is white and crisp looking, but here they've opted for dark wood, giving the whole place a moodier feel. It's like entering an alternate universe.

They duck behind the bar, the manager lifting the wooden swing catch on the bar top and letting Alex go first. The bar and dining area are both empty. There's not even anyone serving, but the lights in the kitchen are on, visible through the square window in the heavy metal door.

The manager hesitates before pushing the door open.

* * *

Jimmy isn't strong enough to carry her the whole way, and they have to keep stopping for him to put her down. His shirt is drenched through with sweat, and his face contorts with effort every time he picks her back up. If Casey were stronger, she could escape, but she isn't, so she has to go along with being treated like a rag doll. She's unsure whether they travel for ten minutes, or an hour; time seems hazy, blurry. She thinks she must have passed out at least once or twice. The pain is excruciating.

When she is awake, she can't tell where they are, or where they're going. The corridors are dark. She doesn't think they're where the guests stay any longer, doesn't recognise anything. Then again, her head is swimming, and she's finding it hard to focus, so she can't be sure. She's been hit in the head with a softball bat before, and the feeling isn't so dissimilar. She'd woken up concussed, with stitches, and no recollection of at least twelve hours.

She wakes up, now, in a room that's only source of light comes from a dim pull-string bulb in the centre of the room. She's vaguely aware of her surroundings: a desk, a camp-bed, a mini-fridge. The floor is rough, cheaply carpeted. The walls are a dark grey.

They're not alone.

"She said you'd know what to do," Jimmy is hissing, to a man who has his back to Casey, but is visibly taller, stockier. His shoulders are almost double the width of Jimmy's, not that that's hard.

"We gotta get her to a hospital. The bullet only nicked her, but she's losing so much blood…"

The larger man strides towards her. He's ruggedly handsome, wearing a sleeveless shirt that shows off his muscular arms, and dark jeans. He looks to be slightly older than Jimmy. Certainly not old enough to be his father. Something white and green checked comes towards her, and she flinches, until she realises he's holding it against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

"We can't," Jimmy says, running his fingers through hair slick with sweat, "we can't go anywhere, we gotta keep her safe here."

"Oh my god, Jim what did you do? We can't just leave her to die here. You wanna go down for murder? Jesus Christ, and I'm gonna be an accessory. That's not happening. I'm calling 911."

Jimmy's got the gun pointing at him before he has a chance to reach for his phone, his hands shaking around the grip, finger poised over the trigger.

"No. You're not doin' that."

* * *

Upon first inspection, the kitchen appears to be empty. It's much smaller than Alex had imagined it, just two rows of aluminium counter tops, with a thin metal table running down the middle. There's a hot plate to keep food warm, and two industrial sized stoves with ovens at the end furthest from the door, along with another door, that she imagines leads to a pantry, or a freezer room. There's no clutter, no dirty pots and pans accumulating around the sinks. It barely looks like it's been used. She's never been into the kitchen at Harbor House, but she can't imagine it looking so shiny, so clean.

A cellphone starts to ring, breaking the eerie silence, and it takes Alex a moment to realise that it's the hotel manager's. He looks flustered, unclipping it from his belt. She realises she's been holding her breath this whole time, and exhales, shakily.

"Excuse me," he apologises, stepping out through the same door they walked in through, leaving Alex alone in the kitchen.

For some reason, she feels more vulnerable alone here than she did in Casey's room upstairs. Something about how completely spotless the room is makes her uneasy. It doesn't even smell like food has been cooked here recently; it smells only of bleach, and the faint fake citrus of kitchen cleaner.

Everything is pointing to this angle being a dead end but… Alex's gut is telling her it isn't. ( _Great, now you're sounding like Elliot Stabler.)_

Unsure what she's looking for, Alex moves further into the room, gliding a hand over the counter top. It's not even damp. She opens a cupboard, but finding only neatly stacked packets of pasta and rice, she closes it again.

Just then, there's a creak from the other side of the room. Alex pauses, listening for it again. She counts to ten in her head, slowly. Nothing. Maybe she imagined it. She takes another step, and there it is again, louder this time.

"Hello?"

Alex strains to hear it again, moving further into the room with almost silent footsteps, though she can still hear the blood rushing in her head, making it hard to concentrate.

Then she hears it, again, a creak, followed by a soft whimpering sound.

"Casey?!"

She pulls open cupboard doors, one by one, searching for the source of the sound.

And then a small blonde head appears, ducking out of the cupboard directly under the sinks, followed by a pale, tear-drenched face, with big, blue eyes.

"Pl-please don't h-hurt me," the little boy sobs, "he has a gun."

* * *

"Okay, okay, we can sort this out, alright, Jim, just put the gun down, okay?"

He has one hand in the air, the other still applying pressure to the dish cloth pressed against Casey's shoulder, and his voice is quivering. He's twice the size of Jimmy, but they both know Jimmy has the advantage. Despite his shaky grip on the gun, he's already fired it once, and Casey doubts he'd hesitate to do it again.

"I can't. You gotta help me get outta here, Eddie. Help _us_ get outta here, me and Casey."

Recognition flashes briefly in Eddie's eyes, and Casey suddenly knows why. This is the same kid she shot hoops with as a little girl, the same kid who would lift her up so she could do a slam dunk when she was too little to attempt it by herself. Jimmy's older brother Eddie had teased her, but he'd been fond of her, too, and she'd thought of him as an honorary member of the Novak family, another older brother to terrorise. He'd been one of her first crushes, too, though she'd have never admitted that.

Here he is, still cleaning up after his baby brother.

"What did you and mom do?" Eddie whispers, his face white as a ghost. He isn't looking at Casey anymore, but she can feel the steady weight of his hand pressed against the bullet wound, "god, Jimmy, this is _serious_. Put that thing down. I'll help you, I swear, I'll help you, but I don't want you to hurt anybody else, y'hear me? Even accidentally. I know you wouldn't purposely hurt anybody. Please, put the gun down."

Jimmy wipes his hand across his face, looking between the two of them, and for a moment, she thinks he'll do it, he'll put the gun down, he'll let Eddie help her. But then, something in his expression changes.

"No, I'm done taking orders from you. It's time you listen to me."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** well, here it is... the penultimate chapter. I'm sorry that it isn't longer but everything got wrapped up a little quicker than I thought. I want to say a huge thank you to everybody who has read this story and left me words of encouragement; without you I wouldn't have been able to keep updating. I hope that even if this isn't the ending you guys _wanted_ necessarily, it's a satisfying one.

The last chapter will be posted as soon as I can get it written, but work is going to be crazy over the next few weeks so we'll see. I may be persuaded to do a sequel on this if anyone's interested.

But for now... happy reading.

* * *

Ducking to the same height as the little boy, who looks like he can't be older than six, Alex tries to control her raging pulse, tries to look like she isn't absolutely terrified. The little boy wriggles out of the small enclosed space he's been hiding in and stares up at her with wide eyes.

"Where is he?" Alex whispers, "where's the bad man with the gun?"

The little boy's bottom lip trembles, his whole body shaking as he lifts a wavering hand, and points towards the door at the far end of the room. Alex had assumed it was a closet, but perhaps it isn't. Wherever it leads, she hopes for both of their sakes that whoever is on the other side can't hear them, even if she is speaking quietly.

"Are you all by yourself in here?"

The little boy nods, wrapping his arms around himself, "I was with daddy. He told me to hide."

"Did daddy go in there?" she asks, pointing again at the door. He nods, "okay, sweetheart. Can you do something for me? I need you to go and wait outside? Okay? Everything will be okay."

Alex sounds surer than she is. She wishes she could believe her own words, but at least the boy does, nodding and slowly scrambling to his feet, taking her hand. Alex heads to the door - the one that leads out to the bar - with him, opening it and peering out. The hotel manager is nowhere to be seen. She sighs, looking down at the little boy.

"You go out and wait in the bar, whilst I go find your daddy. It's okay. No one's going to get hurt," she whispers, squeezing his hand.

The child gazes up at her, and nods. As soon as he slips out of the door, she closes it, quietly as she can, leaning against it heavily.

She knows she should go get the police. She knows it would be ridiculous to go down there unarmed and unprotected, to go against a man with a gun… and yet she doesn't see how she has any other choice. The police are nowhere to be seen. If Casey is through there, bleeding to death, she knows she'll never forgive herself for not at least trying to get to her. Alex squeezes her eyes closed, pressing her body flat against the door, willing her heart rate to slow. _Come on, Cabot, you can do this._ But even as she tells herself that again and again, she knows the truth. That this is practically a suicide mission.

 _I'm going to count to ten and if no back up arrives… I'm going to go in._

Even as she counts - in her head, pausing between each number - Alex's hands are shaking, her heart pounding out a frantic rhythm. This must be the stupidest thing she's ever decided to do. Then again, she hasn't exactly been making the most well-advised decisions lately, especially since Casey showed up. It's like all rational thought has been thrown out.

"Ten," Alex murmurs, clenching her hands into fists at her sides. She takes a single, slow step away from the door she's pressed against. Then another.

 _You're an idiot, Cabot,_ she thinks, taking a deep breath. Pretending to be stronger than she is is a fine art, one she's perfected over time, but also the one that got her into this situation in the first place. She's too stubborn to let something go.

Reaching for the door handle, Alex pushes it down as slowly as she can, wincing at the quiet creak it makes, followed by a click as the door opens. She inches the door open. Her breathing is so loud, so fast, she can barely hear herself think over it. Once she's sure there's nobody lurking on the other side of the door, Alex opens it fully.

The door leads to a dark room, the only light coming from the open door leading to the kitchen. The room's about ten foot squared, the floor mostly taken up by a series of stairs, leading down to another door. Alex stares at the flight of wooden stairs, swallowing hard.

 _This is crazy and stupid_.

She creeps forward, putting one foot onto the top step, cringing when it creaks underneath her weight. There's no way she's going to make it down there without making a sound. Then again, what does that matter? An underground cellar is almost certainly going to be a dead end.

Suddenly, the muffled sound of voices breaks through the relative silence.

A beat. Then she hears it again.

Pushing all other thoughts away, she starts down the stairs, going as carefully as she can, to make as little noise as possible. It's only ten steps, but it feels like it takes an age to go down them.

"—think they'll let you go? They won't do that, not unless you—"

Closer, now, Alex can make out the voice clearer. A man. The man with the gun? Or maybe the little boy's father?

"If she would just listen to me—"

More talking, but too quiet for her to make it out. A sick feeling rises in Alex's throat, as she moves as close to the door as possible, her fingers gripping the door knob, slowly, slowly. She's frightened to turn it. She should just go back upstairs, find a police officer, report this to somebody who actually has some way of protecting themselves, of protecting Casey.

She's frozen in place, trying desperately to decide what to do.

"I didn't _mean_ to do that! If she'd just _listen_."

"—she dies, and they'll take you away forever. She needs help—"

That's enough. It's now or never. Making a split-second decision, Alex turns the door knob fully, and quickly pushes the door open.

Just as the third gunshot rings out.

* * *

The very first time Alex saw a dead body, she was five years old. Her family's persian cat had escaped, ran out into the road and been hit by a car. She only caught a glimpse of her - all mangled white fur, sticky with blood and dirt - before Cleo was wrapped in a towel and taken away, but it was enough.

Four years later, they walked into her Great Aunt Elizabeth's home to find her mother's elderly relative had died sat in front of the television. Alex didn't sleep for a week.

Working as an ADA, she'd seen countless dead bodies. Mostly in the morgue, or in crime scene photographs; many of them horribly mutilated. It never gets any easier.

It's a part of the job.

Nothing could've prepared her for this.

The blood is everywhere. In her eyes, her mouth, her nose, her hair. It takes her a moment to process it, to work out what's happening. When she does, Alex almost vomits.

It feels like she's standing there, frozen, for an age but, realistically, it can only have been a few seconds.

"We gotta get her to a hospital!"

Alex drags her eyes away from the body on the ground, blood sticking to her eyelashes, and it's like time suddenly catches back up with her, like her surroundings suddenly speed back into view.

Casey's here. And she's alive.

And everything from then on happens so fast. She's kneeling beside Casey before she knows it, brushing her hair away from her sweaty forehead, talking to her as she begins to drift out of consciousness. The man hands a second cloth to her, and she presses it to the gushing wound in her chest, the white fabric quickly becoming red and sticky. At some point, the man leaves, and there's police, and medics, and Casey being lifted away on a stretcher, Alex holding her hand tight, telling her she's going to be okay, until eventually, she has to let go.

Later, she sits in the back of a bus, with a thick grey blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She has no idea how long has passed. Police have spoken to her twice, three times. She's given the same statement over and over. They've taken photographs of the blood on her face, her clothes. She still has it sprayed across her, though it's dried now, mixed with Casey's, but she's so out of it… she barely notices its there.

They won't let her go to the hospital. Not until they're done talking with her.

She just wants to see Casey, to know how she's doing, to ensure they're taking care of her. No matter how many times Alex asks, nobody will tell her how she's doing. There was so much blood. Casey had barely been able to string two words together, she'd been so disorientated, only just on the right side of consciousness. Her body was so bruised, so battered. The blood wasn't just from where she'd been shot, but from cuts on her face, on her arms, her chest. God knows what else they'd done to her.

And the man who had taken her… well, he's dead. He'd shot himself. That's as much as anybody will tell her, and she already knew that. She'd seen him do it. It's his blood - partly - that she's covered in.

"Ms. Cabot."

The use of her real name startles her, and she quickly looks up, realising she's zoned out again. Her stomach drops.

"Well, that was fast," she says, dryly.

He doesn't smile. Then again, he never does.


	23. Chapter 23

_The room was hot. Almost unbearably so. Then again, maybe it was the pain that was burning through her body, the effort of staying awake (alive) that was making her sweat. Her body felt like lead, numb and heavy and hot._

 _There was a moment, somewhere between consciousness and not, where Casey had been drawn backward into her own body as a child, staring up from a lake as the water tried to tug her under, to envelope her entirely. She felt just as heavy. She'd bobbed up and down in that lake, trying desperately to keep her head above water, and then, just as she'd sunk, pulled under by a particularly strong current, this bright light had appeared._

 _Later, her parents had told her it was an angel, sent by God. And as a six year old, going to church every Sunday, Casey had believed them. It had looked like an angel, for what she could remember. She'd scribbled a drawing of it with crayons, a blonde woman in a white dress, bathed in light, hovering over her as she almost drowned. Casey's mom had stuck it to the fridge, but covered the bottom of the drawing - the more macabre part - with one of her brother's report cards._

 _In that moment, confused and dizzy, and sure that she was going to die, Casey had looked up, and again, seen the face of an angel hovering over her. It was just as she remembered: blonde hair surrounding a beautiful face, the figure surrounded by brilliant white lights. Casey hadn't visited a church in years - much to her family's disappointment - but she still knew an angel when she saw one._

 _It was the last thing she saw when she closed her eyes. And, she hoped, the first thing she'd see when she opened them._

* * *

It takes Casey a while to break through her slumber, and longer still to figure out her surroundings. She thinks she must have opened her eyes and tried to make sense of it at least ten times, by the time she finally manages to struggle into a semi-seated position, her head swimming and her whole body aching. In a plain white room, with the blinds drawn and bright, industrial lights overhead, she has no idea what time it is, much less what day. Everything that's happened over the past 24 hours is a blur to her. She tries to piece together the last thing she remembers, but it's like a reel of film that's been torn into tiny shards; she can't even tell what's real and what isn't, much less move them into any kind of order.

The room doesn't look familiar to her, though she knows it's a hospital. She recognises the flimsy white tunic with the blue diamond pattern that she's wearing, and the whirring and beeping of machines. The IV cannula going into the back of her left hand is itchy and uncomfortable, restricting her when she tries to move. Though that's nothing in comparison to the burning ache in her shoulder, or her face. She can tell without looking, or touching, that her cheek is swollen, and her nose too. Her head is too heavy to move. When or how any of this happened, she can't quite figure out.

Casey remembers being hit in the face. She remembers something heavy being brought down on the back of her head. She remembers trying to hit somebody with her softball bat. She remembers punches, and crying, and apologies, and begging for forgiveness. She also remembers begging for it to stop.

No. That's not right. Those things happened before. Those memories are years old.

She lets her eyes drift closed again, the weight of her eyelids becoming too much to bear. Sleep threatens to pull her under again, but she's determined not to let it. She wants to figure out where she is, what's happening. What _already_ happened.

Blonde hair. Ocean blue eyes. That infuriating smirk that meant she was trying not to laugh at something Casey said, or did. Falling asleep curled around a warm, soft body, with her nose buried in the smell of coconut shampoo and floral perfume.

Alexandra Cabot.

Casey smiles, despite herself. The simple effort hurts, every muscle in her face - maybe even every muscle in her _body_ \- sore.

"Alex," she mumbles, eyes opening slowly.

"Casey."

It takes her a moment to focus, and when she does, Casey's confused. The face that hovers over hers, the hand holding hers (she hadn't even noticed)… it doesn't belong to Alex, after all. Where is she? What's Olivia doing here?

"Cragen had me flown over here from New York as soon as we heard what happened," Liv says, using the soft, gentle voice Casey knows well. The one reserved for victims. "How are you feeling?"

It's too loaded a question for Casey to answer right away. She still hasn't figured out what happened, only remembering bits and pieces, struggling to make sense of it all. She remembers being tied up in her hotel room… being shot… but the rest is hazy.

"They've got you on a lot of pain meds," Olivia says, when she doesn't answer, rubbing her thumb over the back of Casey's hand, "the anaesthetic from surgery probably hasn't worn off yet, either."

"Mmmm… don't remember much," Casey murmurs, lying back against the headrest. Hospital beds might not be the most comfortable of things, but someone's made sure she's got extra pillows. That's Olivia's handiwork, she guesses.

"It's okay. Somebody from the local police is going to want to question you, but I think - I hope - I've talked them into giving you a bit of time first."

The irony isn't lost on Casey. If this was Olivia's case, she'd be wanting to speak with the victim as soon as possible. Still, she's grateful. She doesn't feel fit to talk to anybody just yet, much less the cops, who would no doubt be poking into her private life, asking questions about Alex that she wouldn't be able to answer…

Alex. Casey winces. Had the police questioned her? Did they know who she was? She's sure it was Alex who found her, remembers the relief, Alex comforting her, stroking her hair… but it could have been another figment of her imagination. She can't be sure. And surely if Alex was still around, she'd be here. If nothing else, Liv would have mentioned her.

"Who found me?" Casey eventually asks, swallowing thickly. It's an effort to speak, and her voice comes out dry and even lower than usual, barely louder than a whisper. There's a pitcher of water at her bedside, and Olivia instinctively reaches for it, pouring her some into a plastic cup, before Casey can even ask her. Her hand is so shaky, she can't quite get the cup to her lips, so Olivia helps.

"Somebody from another hotel called for the police, but as far as I know, she wasn't at the scene. It was an Officer Swanson who found you. His unit's handling the case."

Casey's heart sinks. So, Alex has been shipped off to witness protection again, or worse. And she hadn't even got to say a proper goodbye, at least not one that she remembers. That's selfish. Alex's whole life has been turned upside down _again_ , and it's her fault. If she hadn't come back here, if she hadn't gotten herself kidnapped… suddenly she feels sick, a feeling of dread building deep down in her stomach as some of the details of the past few days come flooding back to her. Someone watching them in her hotel room, taking photographs, leaving messages for Alex. Someone from the hotel. Jimmy, the scrawny kid she'd grown up with, who had, at some point, become obsessed with her. He knew about her and Alex. In his muttered ramblings, he talked about sin, about a bitch who should have left her alone.

She'd shot his mother. It had been an accident - she doesn't even know where the gun came from, only vaguely remembers a struggle over it, the gun going off in her hands - but she'd still shot her.

"Liv… I should tell you… it's better you hear it from me, than during the trial…"

Olivia shakes her head, that emphatic, concerned smile of hers that Casey's seen so many times before suddenly feeling almost patronising. "There's not going to be a trial, Casey. Your kidnapper shot himself. He died on the scene. There's nobody to prosecute."

"His mom?" she croaks.

"She was found dead upstairs. It's over. The police just want to go over your statement, get your side of what happened, and then it's over."

For some ridiculous reason, Casey starts to cry, and once she starts, she can't stop. Her chest aches with each sob, the stitches hidden underneath bandages across her left side tugging and burning despite how heavily medicated she is. She and Olivia have really never been that close - besides her being one of the few people who know about Charlie - but when Olivia wraps her arms around her, careful not to hurt her, Casey collapses against her, letting herself give in to the absolute exhaustion and mental drain that is threatening to suck the life out of her. Olivia rubs her back, murmuring encouragingly, and that just makes her cry more. She wishes Alex was here. Even after everything that's happened, she just wishes Alex was here.

A while later - honestly, Casey has no idea how long she spends crying, and doesn't have the energy to be embarrassed about it - they're interrupted by a nurse coming in to check on Casey's vitals. Liv excuses herself, promising she'll be back in a little while, and Casey tries to relax. At least she's stopped crying. She murmurs responses to the nurse's questions, agrees to her meds being pushed up, lets the nurse feed her some more water. She's going to be kept in for at least one more night, and a doctor's going to come round soon to talk through her injuries, and they'll discuss letting the police in to question her.

The nurse has only been gone a few minutes when Olivia appears again, carrying a large cardboard box with her.

"I have to go back to New York in the morning. I hoped to stay at least until you'd spoken to the police, but…"

"Duty calls," Casey says, attempting a smile. She eyes the box, "that for me?"

"Yeah, I think it must be from someone at the DA's office, unless you can think of somebody else who would send you a package out here?" Olivia sets the box down on the tray that's across Casey's lap.

For a moment, Casey hesitates. She's not sure what she's expecting to happen, exactly, but receiving unknown packages still makes her feel a little uneasy, especially after everything that's happened. It's a white box, with _Annabelle's_ written across the side in a calligraphy font. Presumably it's a florists, or a bakery maybe.

Olivia must sense her apprehension, because she gently touches Casey's hand where it rests just beside the package, and asks if she'd like her to open it instead. Well, she's already cried in front of Olivia; she might as well forget trying to put on a brave front. She nods, and the detective slowly opens the flaps of the box. She's moving with such care, Casey half expects her to pull her weapon out, just in case.

"Somebody sent you… a cactus," Olivia says, frowning.

She lifts an item out of the box, and sure enough, it's a large bulb-shaped cactus, in a beautiful abstract pot that looks hand-crafted. Even without opening the little pearlescent envelope nestled in the bottom of the pot, Casey has her suspicions of who has sent it. Just that little glimmer of hope makes her body feel electric, as she slides the card out, and opens it, her hands shaking ever so slightly. Olivia watches her with a bemused look on her face, but says nothing.

 _Not flowers… this seemed more appropriate._

 _Like you… prickly on the outside. Soft on the inside._

 _Much love,_

 _A x_

A tear slides down Casey's cheek, uninvited, as she chuckles to herself, tucking the card back into the envelope.

 **The End**

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much everybody for your continued support and patience with this piece. I know it doesn't end quite how we'd all like it to, but I wanted to go for realistic rather than a perfect ending. Good news is **I've started on a sequel!** I probably won't have the first chapter up for a while, but it's in the works. Thanks again for all your lovely comments!


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